you win until you lose [jinx; jaekyung/dan; mature]

[sodomhipped]

Title: you win until you lose [or read on ao3]

Fandom: Jinx

Pairing: Joo Jaekyung/Kim Dan

Rating: Mature

Warning: TBD

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Apologies, Fix-It of Sorts, Joo Jaekyung is not a good man

Author’s Note: That season finale got me feeling some kind of way.

And, as usual, thanks to my partner for editing this and making it far better than it otherwise would have been.

Summary:

Joo Jaekyung hasn’t heard from Kim Dan since the cowardly note he left behind.

『Or, Jaekyung works through his feelings after Dan leaves.』

---

Joo Jaekyung hasn’t heard from Kim Dan since the cowardly note he left behind.

At first, Jaekyung stubbornly waited for Dan to make the first move. The guy had nothing, so it wouldn’t take long for him to come crawling back with some sob story. But a day passed, then two. Then a week.

It’s on the eleventh day that Jaekyung breaks down and texts, tapping each character too forcefully into his phone: Did I give you permission to quit?

Nothing changes on the screen to indicate that the message has been read or even received.

 

 

“What do you mean you’re looking for a new physical therapist?” Jaekyung asks.

Neither the manager nor Jeong Yosep wince at his tone. They both look exhausted. But what of it? Jaekyung wears his arm in a sling and nothing is as it should be, so why should he care that they’re tired?

“Jaekyung,” the manager says, “I told you before. We have to replace Doc Dan. You’ll need someone experienced to get back into fighting shape.”

“The board isn’t happy about losing a staff member on top of so many fighters,” Yosep adds.

The manager nods his head. “Yes, so please try to get along well with this next physical therapist.”

“No,” Jaekyung says. “Get Kim Dan back here.”

The manager shows the palms of his hands, a placating gesture. “If I could, I would.”

 

 

Jaekyung texts Dan again. He’s so mad he can barely see straight. He cannot get his head around the apparent fact that Kim Dan of all people is ignoring him, like his pitiful little life doesn’t revolve around Jaekyung.

The text sits, unacknowledged: When are you coming back to work?

Like last time, nothing changes. There’s no response at all. No read receipt.

“You asshole,” he snarls at his phone.

He throws on some gear—snagging his shoulder in the process—and heads to the gym.

 

 

“Coach, if Kim Dan doesn’t intend to come back, then tell him to come get the rest of his junk from my house or I’m throwing it out myself.”

It’s a lie. The night he found Kim Dan gone, the condo had been cleared of every trace that would even hint that Dan had once lived there. The only thing that remains is something Dan himself had tried to dispose of—the mother-of-pearl wardrobe. Jaekyung had gone down and yelled at the disposal men, accused them of stealing, until they brought it back up to the exact place they found it.

“Okay,” the manager agrees. “I’ll call him this evening.”

“No,” Jaekyung says. “Do it now.”

The manager sighs but fishes his phone out of his pocket. After a few rings, he begins to speak. He asks Dan how he’s doing, apologizes for intruding, and relays Jaekyung’s message with no little embarrassment.

Jaekyung holds back the urge to grab the manager’s phone so he can yell at Kim Dan himself.

Once the manager hangs up, Jaekyung leaves and dials Kim Dan’s number. It doesn’t even finish the first ring before it goes to voicemail.

“He blocked me,” he mutters to himself in disbelief.

 

 

On the last day of the month, he gets a notification on his phone that a pitiful amount of money has been wired into his account. It’s been three weeks since Dan left.

He calls the bank, waits on hold for ten minutes, and reverses the transfer.

At the gym that day, he tells his manager, “If Kim Dan asks for a recommendation for another job, don’t provide one.”

“Why wouldn’t I? He was very conscientious about his work here—and he put up with you longer than anyone before him.”

“He abandoned Team Black because his feelings got a little hurt.”

The manager sighs. “Forget about Kim Dan, Jaekyung. Let’s focus on your shoulder instead.”

 

 

Two more transfers come into his account. He reverses them both.

And then, finally, he receives a text.

From: Kim Dan
Sorry to bother you, Mr. Joo. I seem to have technical difficulties wiring the money I owe to you. I know you’re a busy man and don’t want to take up any of your time, but could you confirm your details?

An idea strikes Jaekyung. He texts back, Don’t wire anything. Deliver what you owe in person.

Although there’s no answer, this time Jaekyung can feel Kim Dan—wherever he’s hiding—fretting, so he smiles.

 

 

Ordinarily, not being able to train properly would have Jaekyung in a dark mood. But today, he bares his teeth through his stretches as he thinks of Dan sheepishly turning up at his door to hand over a check or cash in person. Dan might even offer an apologetic bow.

And Jaekyung would tell him that it isn’t enough.

He’d tell Dan that it was his fault from start to finish. He didn’t check the spray carefully enough. He didn’t tell Jaekyung that he wasn’t in league with Baek Junmin. He left Jaekyung without so much as a second thought.

No, not only would he tell Dan it wasn’t enough, Jaekyung would tell him that his error was always the same: Dan failed to do the one thing Jaekyung hired him for when he took his eyes off Jaekyung.

 

 

“Jaekyung,” Yosep calls, “this letter is for you.”

Yosep shoves a neat letter in his direction. Jaekyung’s name is written in tidy characters on the front. There’s no postage stamp or address, so it must have been delivered by hand.

He opens it to find a small stack of cash and a note. He doesn’t bother to read the note, turning on Yosep instead.

“When was this left?”

Yosep shrugs. “You’d have to ask Manager Park. But my guess would be this morning since he got here early today.”

He looks at the note later. It only reads: Sorry for the inconvenience.

 

 

Jaekyung texts Dan once he gets home.

Did you forget my address? Why did you drop it off at the gym?

He settles back on the couch, phone on his thigh so he will feel it vibrate when Dan answers and takes a few breaths. His heart is beating so fast. He must be getting out of shape because of the injury.

No answer. He picks up the phone, tapping it against his thigh. Minutes tick by.

After a full half hour, suspicion starts curling in the pit of Jaekyung’s belly. He flicks open Dan’s contact information and clicks the small ‘call’ icon. The first ringtone is cut off, sending him straight to voicemail.

Blocked again.

 

 

The next night, he calls up an old fuck buddy. He has to scroll through a few names to find someone who isn’t pissed at him. Woojin is exactly as Jaekyung remembers: blinded by his fame and smitten with his wealth.

But with his short hair, he does look a bit like Dan in low light.

Jaekyung throws him towards the bed, and Woojin laughs at him. “It’s been a long time, but it’s nice to see you haven’t changed at all.”

Jaekyung doesn’t get time to correct him, because Woojin drops his pants, kicks them to the side, and crawls up the bed so his ass is offered up.

“Let’s see if you’ve still got it,” Woojin challenges. He eyes Jaekyung’s arm, useless in its sling, but seems to know better than to mention it.

For a moment, it’s satisfying to sink his dick into Woojin’s tight ass. Woojin arches up with a hissing sound, one hand thrown back to pull Jaekyung’s hips even closer. He bounces on his dick, moaning the whole time like a porn star.

It isn’t at all what Jaekyung wants.

He thinks about how embarrassed Dan was of every noise he made—and how satisfying it was to pound him until those sounds morphed from little whimpers into keening Jaekyung’s name with each thrust.

He thinks about how satisfying it would be to have Dan on his knees now. Those big eyes turned up at him as Jaekyung made Dan take his dick into his mouth. He might say, ‘Show me how sorry you are,’ and Dan would do his best even as tears welled up and spilled over his reddening cheeks.

He thinks about taking Dan to bed—like has so many times now—and how familiar he’d look rumpled in the sheets. Warm and inviting.

“Uh,” Woojin says, twisting so he can turn back to look at Jaekyung. “Are you okay?”

Jaekyung realizes he stopped. His dick is already getting soft, though he hasn’t come yet.

“You’re too loose,” Jaekyung snarls. “How am I supposed to get off like this?”

A furrow crumples Woojin’s brow briefly before it smooths out. He shifts on his knees, ducking his head low. “Then I’ll use my mouth.”

There will be chatter on social media about this in the morning, probably. Snickering about the fact that Jaekyung can’t keep it up.

He can’t bring himself to care.

“No,” Jaekyung says, pushing him off the bed. “Just go.”

Woojin slams the door on his way out, leaving Jaekyung alone in his condo.

 

 

The month passes by but not much changes: Jaekyung cannot lift his arm higher than the line of his shoulder; two physical therapists are hired and each quits within a week; Dan still has his number blocked; and Dan pays him on the last day of the month.

“Another letter,” Manager Park says, holding out an envelope. “And we need to talk about your physical therapy. You can’t keep running the new guys out. The board is going to call a meeting about your behavior at this rate.”

“What did he say?” Jaekyung asks, not taking the outstretched envelope.

“Who?”

“Kim Dan.”

The manager stops to look Jaekyung over. “Not much. He asked how the gym was. And how your recovery was progressing.”

“Probably spying for Baek Junmin.”

Manager Park purses his lips. “I don’t think you even think that.”

“Wouldn’t blame him if he did jump ship, though,” Yosep interjects from across the room, “considering the way you treated him.”

Jaekyung wants to growl at him to mind his own business, but he doesn’t. “Whatever. Next time he’s here, tell him I want to see him.”

Manager Park scratches his neck. He won’t meet Jaekyung’s eyes. “I think if Doc Dan wanted to see you, he wouldn’t come so early in the day.”

 

 

Over the next few weeks, Jaekyung texts Dan more without an answer. Calling yields no better results. Each time, Dan’s voicemail mechanically instructs him to leave a message at the tone too quickly.

A new guy starts as his physical therapist. He’s older and doesn’t put up with too much of his lip.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Jaekyung tells him. “You’re keeping someone’s spot warm.”

“Fine by me,” the new guy says. “I’m not looking to hang around a young punk like you more than I have to. Now, do what I tell you. If you work on your stretches, you’ll get back 90%—maybe even 100%—of the strength back in that arm.”

It seems enough like a truce, so Jaekyung works on his stretches. Most days, he’s certain his arm is fucked for good and he’s never going to make it back to his spot as champion. But some days, he can do more than the day before, and a thrill rushes through him, fierce and ready for the chance.

 

 

By the end of the month, he has a plan. Not a great plan, but a plan nonetheless.

He gets up before the sun, dons a hoodie and dark sunglasses, and gets in his car without bothering to eat breakfast. The lights are on in the gym, so the Manager Park has already started for the day.

But he doesn’t go in. Instead, he finds a parking spot where he can watch the front. Then he waits.

Nearly an hour passes before it pays off.

A slim figure, all tucked up into itself, approaches the entrance. Jaekyung would recognize Kim Dan anywhere.

He tugs his hood up and hustles to intercept Dan. He pulls alongside him as Dan’s fingers touch the door handle.

“Kim Dan, you’re a difficult man to get a hold of.”

Dan freezes, fingers seizing around the metal.

“No need to act so scared,” Jaekyung huffs. “I only came because I wanted to talk to you.”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Dan at that, though he looks like he’s ready to run. No, he looks like one of those bugs that roll up into a ball when threatened.

“Okay,” Dan says.

“Not here,” Jaekyung answers. Manager Park would love to interfere. “There’s a coffee shop close by. You know the one.”

Dan flinches again, probably remembering his meeting with the director of the King of MMA gym. Anyone would have thought he was a traitor after seeing those photos.

But Dan just nods and agrees, in his soft voice, “Okay. My treat.”

 

 

They order at the counter and find some seats.

Kim Dan shifts awkwardly in his seat. His gaze is firmly planted on his coffee. After a minute, he pulls out an envelope and sets it on the table in front of Jaekyung.

“There are easier ways to pay me back.”

Kim Dan shakes his head. “I’m doing my best and I’ll keep my word. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Jaekyung shrugs and has to suppress a grimace as the gesture pulls his shoulder wrong.

“How is your injury?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Kim Dan squares his shoulders, marshaling some amount of resolve. “I am sorry for my mistake at your match. I’ll always feel guilty.”

“Guilt doesn’t do any good,” Jaekyung answers. “Where are you getting the money anyway? Did you start working for Baek Junmin’s gym?”

He expects Dan’s new resolve to shift to anger. But instead, Dan looks tired and sad.

“No,” he says. “I would never do that.”

Jaekyung doesn’t know what to say to that, so he sips his coffee. Dan follows suit, likely to cover the awkward silence between them.

“You’re tan,” Jaekyung says eventually—stupidly.

Dan startles. He looks down at his hands, like he forgot what they look like, and pulls the sleeves of his shirt over his wrists. “I was at the seaside last month. Guess I picked up a little sun.”

“Vacation?” Jaekyung’s question comes out snide.

For whatever reason, it almost makes Dan cry. Jaekyung can see his eyes becoming red and moist, as Dan blinks rapidly to try to clear them.

“It was for my last trip with Grandma. She grew up there.”

Oh.

Jaekyung remembers her. The near-mythical owner of the mother-of-pearl wardrobe, but nothing more than a mere shell of a woman. He spoke with her at the hospital and marveled the entire time that she was a living being. She seemed so impossibly frail.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Dan does cry then. Gross, sloppy tears stream over his face as if they were waiting for their moment. Dan buries his face in his hands, each curled into a fist that he pushes into the sockets of his eyes.

“Hey,” Jaekyung says, not knowing what to do. “Don’t cry.”

 

 

Because Jaekyung only has one good arm, it takes some maneuvering to get Dan back to the gym. He realizes only once they are at the gym door that he forgot Dan’s coffee and the envelope of money on the table.

He shrugs it off. Such a small sum doesn’t matter.

“Manager,” he calls out as he hauls Dan inside. “I could use a hand.”

“What is—?” Manager Park asks, but his question comes to an abrupt end as he catches sight of a sobbing Dan tucked into Jaekyung’s side. His mouth thins into an angry line. Jaekyung can imagine what he wants to say, but the manager only plucks Dan away from him, putting a fatherly arm over Dan’s thin shoulders. “Let’s get you pulled together before the boys arrive. They’d be so worried to see their favorite doc upset.”

As Jaekyung watches them walk away, he feels more unsettled than he should be by Dan’s tears. Dan has always cried easily; every day he seemed to find something to cry about while he was living with Jaekyung anyway.

Jaekyung knows the manager is a family man without any ulterior motive, but he can’t quite shake off how much he hates the sight of someone pulling Dan away from him.

 

 

Dan and the manager hole up in the manager’s office. Jaekyung halfheartedly does some of his assigned stretches as he waits for them.

Yosep arrives. Then Potato.

Yosep eyes the manager’s rarely closed door. “Something going on?” he asks Jaekyung.

“How would I know?”

Yosep gives him a dubious look but doesn’t press further.

 

 

Eventually, Dan and Manager Park walk out. It’s obvious Dan has only recently stopped crying.

“If you need anything,” Manager Park tells him, “you know where to find us.”

“Thank you,” Dan says.

He seems to realize Jaekyung is waiting and freezes again.

“I’ll drive you home,” Jaekyung says.

Dan immediately waves his hands, urgent. “No! Thank you very much for the offer, but I am okay. I'm on my way to work anyway.”

“Fine,” Jaekyung interrupts. “Then I’ll take you to work.”

 

 

Jaekyung is relieved that the manager doesn’t stop him as he guides Dan out to his car. He looked like he might be considering it.

Dan shuffles alongside him like he’s walking to his own execution.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Jaekyung tells him. “And get in the car.”

Kim Dan gives him an address that’s a good distance away and inconveniently located. Jaekyung bites back his thoughts, puts the address into his GPS, and starts the car.

“Where are you working now? I asked before.”

“Odd jobs, mostly.”

“Not as a physical therapist?”

“No.”

Jaekyung huffs. “That’s stupid. You’re good at your work. That’s what you should be doing.”

He can see Dan’s eyes dart to him, wide and surprised, from the corner of his eye. “Thank you for your kind words.”

“I don’t give out hollow compliments,” Jaekyung says.

It is a mere breath of a thing, but he swears Dan laughs.

“Yes, I know.”

“Why did you block my number?”

Kim Dan looks away again. “I was sure you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“That’s now how blocking works,” Jaekyung says. “Blocking me means that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I guess,” Dan agrees.

“You put up with everything I threw at you, so why did you throw in the towel now?” Jaekyung asks. “Because I lost?”

“What?” Dan says, shock clear in his voice. “Of course not. It’s partially my fault that you went into the ring injured. It was my job to keep you in good health…”

 

 

Jaekyung wants to ignore the GPS’s dispassionate instructions and veer off towards his condo with Dan in tow. If he wasn’t certain that Dan would leave immediately and be even more careful in the future to avoid him, he might have done exactly that.

Instead, he turns when the GPS commands, hand clenched on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles hurt.

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

Dan sniffles but shoves a rough hand against his face to quell the noise. “Thank you. I miss her a lot.”

“I’m, uh,” Jaekyung hesitates, “holding onto that wardrobe for you. It was hers, right?”

“What?” Dan asks. “I called a company to get rid of it.”

“It’s safe and sound at my place. I can send a photo if you don’t believe me.”

“No, I believe you,” Dan says. He bites his lip. “But why did you do that? I already owe you so much.”

An uncomfortable feeling settles in Jaekyung’s throat. He doesn’t have a good answer to that himself. “I felt like it.”

 

 

The address Dan gave him is a dumpy little restaurant.

“You work here?”

“Days here. Evenings at a different place.”

Jaekyung can’t hold it in any longer. “Stop being so damn stubborn and come back to the gym.”

“Stubborn?”

“What else?”

Dan fidgets again. At least he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry anymore. “I don’t think I can—but I appreciate you saying that. It means a lot to me.”

With that, Dan gets out of the car. Jaekyung wants to yell and scream at him for being so dense. He manages to say nothing until he finds Dan standing in the street at the driver’s side door. He motions to roll down the window. Jaekyung reaches across with his good arm to click the button.

“Forget something?”

“No,” Dan says. “I wanted to tell you that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Grandma was thankful that you helped me when I needed it, let me travel to America with you, and sat with her to talk that one day. Thank you for all of that—and for your kindness today.”

Jaekyung thinks back and cannot think of anything he would classify as ‘kindness.’

“If you’re talking about the wardrobe, it doesn’t even matter to me. Come get it whenever you want. Or don’t.”

Dan almost smiles at that. “Okay.”

He turns to leave and Jaekyung’s left arm moves without him willing it. He grabs Dan by the shirt and holds on, even though his shoulder feels like there’s a bonfire inside of it as he does.

“Don’t block me again,” he says, pulling Dan’s face close. He can feel Dan’s surprised puffs of breath against his lips.

“I won’t,” Dan whispers.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” Dan notices what arm he’s using, and pulls away. Jaekyung’s grasp gives away, as weak as a kitten. “Please don’t hurt your arm, Mr. Joo!”

“I’d behave better if my physical therapist would come back.”

Dan smiles again. His hand reaches out, almost like he wants to touch Jaekyung. But then he pulls back, and says, “You wouldn’t and you know it.”

“Maybe I’d try.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dan says.

“Promise me that, too.”

Dan leans down, pressing his lips to Jaekyung’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything else as he walks into the dingy restaurant.

Five minutes later, Jaekyung is still sitting in the parked car as his phone screen lights up with a new notification.

From: Kim Dan
I promise.