Cleansing
Cleansing // No Pairing (unless you want to squint)
Slavery (but not really) AU // PG-13
In that place, Jinki and Kibum were only numbers and things to be sold with just enough luck to escape death.
♥♥♥
“I heard the masters are going to do a clean-up of our sector soon. They’re supposed to be having foreign guests over to help boost business. Said they don’t want filth pushing them away.” A boy, supposedly around the age of seventeen, whispers, his head bowed and eyes glued to the floor as a teller walks past him, scanning the room. He peeks up through his fringe when the teller is on the other side of the room and locks eyes with his companion sitting across from him.
The other’s head is towards the ground also, shaggy chocolate hair all over the place. The boy, number 62308, thinks he’s sleeping yet he’s shown the opposite when the head lifts, black eyes filled with disbelief.
“Who told you that?” Number 41565 questions, his voice raspy from lack of use. He lifts a hand, pushing his hair out of his vision and stares. He’s older than number 62308 by a few years but living in the circuit erased any sense of time from them. No one knows how old they are. Only the newcomers, the ones brought in after a clean-up know. But they soon forget.
Number 41565 glances around the room when 62308 doesn’t reply right away. The room is small, the size of a high school classroom that can only fit twenty students but is forced to hold fifty. It reeks of bodily fluids that he doesn’t even want to identify with specific body parts and the walls, the floors, the people are stained. The once off-white walls are attacked with calls for help and groans of pain and surprisingly, despite the harsh smells and living conditions, he’s been told that his circuit is one of the nicest. He doesn’t believe it. He can’t. Because living here for years gives him a different perspective and he’s sure that this place is one of the worst no matter what anyone says.
There are ten beds, all queen-sized and while that may seem generous, it’s hardly so when each bed has to fit five or more fully grown people on them. Only those with injuries get a full bed to themselves, kicking the other four or so people off and into the other full beds.
He remembers when he was shot during a demonstration of what would happen should someone become disobedient towards the masters. He wasn’t even the one in the demonstration, just a bystander in the line of fire when the gun holder shot off in a random direction. It hit him in the thigh, just above his knee and while he was thoroughly taken care of by the healer, the dirty looks he was given by his bedmates that had to find other places to sleep were enough for the pain to be felt ten times as intense.
His friend sighs and number 41565 snaps his head back to look at him. “It doesn’t matter who told me, Jinki.” 62308 regards him with a glare. The use of his name makes him flinch because even though time has erased most of his memories of normal life, it hasn’t erased the name his mother gave him that one day in December. Jinki hates his name, he likes being number 41565 better because when he’s a number, he can pretend he isn’t really living like this.
Jinki shakes his head. “It does matter Kibum.” He says, firm and confident and a little naïve. “Just because you heard it from someone, it doesn't mean it's going to happen. The masters usually inform us of a clean-up at least two weeks in advance. You know how they talk about mental preparedness and all."
Kibum, or number 62308, stares at him and Jinki can see the disbelief in his eyes and a lingering shadow of comfort. Kibum was ready to die, came to terms with the thought, but Jinki was nowhere near prepared.
It turns out that what Kibum heard is right and two days later, with no warning at all, tellers show up with guns. That actually isn’t anything out of the ordinary but when they fire three shots at the ceiling, everyone scatters in panic.
The tellers line everyone up and escort them to Judgment, the room the clean-ups always took place. Jinki’s been here before and he always hoped he would never have to come back yet here he is again. Judgment is cleaner than the rooms they’re kept in but he knows the masters repaint the walls after each clean-up and underneath every new layer is crimson.
Inside the room are four masters standing in the center of the room, holding clipboards and conversing with one another. In any other situation Jinki would assume they’re conductors of an interview but he knows better, knows what’ll happen if luck isn’t on his side.
“Alright,” The master farthest away from Jinki starts. “Tidy up these lines a bit.” He snaps and everyone shuffles to perfect them though it really doesn’t matter. They’re all going to die anyway.
Jinki feels Kibum’s hand find his and their fingers intertwine. Jinki gives his hand a comforting squeeze even though nothing can comfort those who are staring death in the eye.
“As you all can tell, this is a clean-up. Business has been slow lately and we’ve been receiving word of new possible clients coming to town and we can’t have lowlifes turning them away.” The first master recites.
To the right of him, Jinki hears someone begin to protest. All of the masters turn their heads to the protester and the fourth master standing right in front of Jinki pulls his gun from the holster on his waist. There’s no warning before the sound of the gunshot bounces around the room. Jinki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; Kibum applies pressure to his grip on Jinki’s hand.
“Anyone else have something so say?” The first man in line, smirks and Jinki breaths again. “Alright then. Now we’re going to have a little test of luck. I’m thinking of a number between one and ten, if one of you guesses correctly, anyone called on the number will be spared; if the correct number is not said, we’re going to do it like we usually do, and if you can get out, you’ll live.”
Jinki watches as the second master, the only blond in the row of black hair, steps up with his eyes glued to his clipboard.
“Can number 41565 step up?” He calls and everything freezes around Jinki. If time did continue here, it just stopped, never to continue again. He doesn’t even feel Kibum release his hand to elbow him in the ribs.
This can’t be happening, he chants to under his breath, because he refuses to acknowledge it. But while he fails at convincing himself that he wasn’t just called on, he inches forward, slipping past those in the room in front of his and into the master’s view.
He wonders if he’ll be shot for peeing himself.
Metaphorically speaking.
He bows his head, knowing that not doing so is considered disobedience. Only a few seconds pass before the blond master tells him to lift his head. Slowly, Jinki does as he’s told and soon he’s gazing into menacing black holes.
The master grins yet Jinki knows it’s not out of happiness or humor. “Like I said, I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. What is it?”
Jinki blinks. He can’t be serious. But then, does this mean he’s spared?
“I asked you what number I’m thinking of.” Jinki can hear the impatience in the man’s voice yet he just can’t seem to get his throat to open so that he can speak, emit a sound, anything.
“S-Six.” He stutters out and then there is laughter from the masters.
"Are you sure about that? You don't sound too sure." The blond master jokes and the other masters continue on in their laughter and Jinki wants nothing more for them to shoot him now because playing it out isn't making his heart beat any slower.
"I-I'm sure. Six." He says and he bows his head to the floor again as the laughter goes from mocking to boisterous. The sound makes his insides crawl and he can feel the tension rise in the room. There are so many unanswered questions.
Is six the right number? Are we all going to die?
What are they laughing about?
But then the laughter ceases with a gunshot to the ceiling and Jinki hopes that he didn't flinch. The silence is different from before. This silence is heavier, filled with trepidation and sweet Jesus can they just get it over with because-
"It seems like today is your lucky day...for some of you at least. Six was the correct answer."
And Jinki mental heaves a sigh of relief. He's free to live until another clean-up.
The masters don't spend any time before they start counting off and a teller walks up to Jinki, gun in hand and blank expression on his face. He leads Jinki towards the door, allowing him to watch as each sixth person is told to step out of the mass and to leave. The first row goes by faster than Jinki hoped it would and soon they're on the second row. The row where Kibum is standing with his hands balled into fists and teeth digging into his lower lip. Jinki prays for him from his place by the door but as the masters approach his friend he wonders if his prayers will be answered.
He blocks off the sound of everything but the calling out of the masters.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
And then Jinki's eye go wide and the noise of the shuffling feet and the groans of pain are assault his ears again. Kibum is number one on the next count. Jinki feels his heart drop to this stomach, feels the organ burn in the acidity of the liquid residing in the organ, feels his heart pass through his intestines, almost feels himself wet his pants. So close, but not close enough.
Kibum glances over at him and when they lock eyes, Jinki sees the readiness. Kibum is ready to die, he knows, noticed earlier but Jinki isn't ready to die or ready for his friend to die.
The rest of the counting doesn't even make it into Jinki's head. All he can hear, all he can see is Kibum waiting in the mass waiting to be massacred.
"You....hey you. Number 41565." He feels a tap on his shoulder and he jumps. The teller to the right of him shakes his head and warns him not to be so jumpy with his movement. He tells Jinki that he's been bought and that he has the option of bringing someone along.
"Who would you like to bring with you?"
And Jinki wastes no time in spouting out Kibum's number to the man. He hopes the man hears the raw feeling in his voice, the need for the only friend in this place to be with him. The teller nods, more to himself than to Jinki, and heads off to the four masters who are finally finished with their choosing.
He watches the men converse and Jinki can see one of the masters, one with dark muddy hair and a tattoo of a lock and key on his neck walk over to those waiting for death. He turns back to the teller when he reaches them for what Jinki thinks is a confirmation before grabbing Kibum by the arm and dragging him out.
Letting out a sigh of relief under his breath, Jinki allows himself to relax if only mentally. Kibum'll live. And just that thought alone soothes Jinki's soul and makes everything okay.
The tattooed master brings Kibum to his side and the two automatically latch hands. It isn't obvious, but Jinki thinks he can see a light fill Kibum's eyes. The light of life.
Tossed out of the room along with the other survivors, Jinki doesn't waste a second before covering his ears. It helps none. The gunshots and the screams are too loud but the feeling of his arms cradling his head acts as some kind of off balance security blanket.
The nine of them head down the hallway, the sounds of the pain lessening with each step. It isn't until they reach the end of the dimly lit passage does the teller guiding them turn to face them.
"41565 and 62308, you have an offer waiting for you in Temptation." Temptation, the room where they are usually sold to clients. "The rest of you will follow me back to your holding place. The newcomers should have already settled in."
Jinki and Kibum glance at each other before nodding simultaneously.
If there's one thing that's about as terrifying as a clean-up, it's a selling. Clients could be even worse than the masters. The masters kept them fed, clean - to an extent -and healthy - also to an extent - but clients, soon to be lords could starve them, chain then to walls, anything.
Temptation is an elegant room with cream wall paint and tan hardwood floors. There is a Maplewood desk in front of the window in the center of the room. There are no chairs, as the selling process is generally quick. 18th century French paintings litter the walls.
Before the table stands a man.
"Takahisa-san, it's nice to see you." The blond master enters the room, lightly shutting the door behind him. "This is number 41565...and the one he chose to bring with him, 62308."
The Japanese man nods. "Karera wa ii. Ikura desuka?" (They are good. How much?)
"500,000 yen."
"...Wakarimasu." (I understand.)
And minutes later Jinki and Kibum are told to follow the man out. Their new lord.
"Jinki..." Kibum nudges him as he whispers. He turns to look at the younger. "We can go. Like...escape."
The elder's eyes widen. "Kibum you can't be serious...and our lord is only a meter ahead of us. What if he hears you?"
"The man doesn't even speak Korean." Kibum sighs, shaking his head. "Look if you don't want to come with me and stay here like an idiot then at least watch my back okay? I didn't sit in that hellhole for three years just to become a slave."
"Kibum you can't-"
"But I will." Kibum presses a hand to Jinki's arm, stopping him. They gaze at each other, their lord walking away obliviously. "Come with me."
"I-I can't. I...Kibum." Jinki shakes his head. He's going to lose his best friend.
"Then, I'll go and come find you later. Stay alive, okay." Kibum says, gives Jinki a winning smile, and then he's gone.
Jinki can't fight that sinking feeling in his gut. And then he knows that he should have told Kibum to stay alive because when he caught up to his lord he heard the man speaking in very clear Korean.
"One of them just tried to escape. Find him and if he puts up a struggle, control him."
Jinki prays Kibum can run fast but then he hears a wail and hopes it’s just someone getting mugged.
"Minho..." A boy, probably around Kibum’s age, turns around, hands stuffed in his pockets. Designer shades cover the majority of his face and Jinki wonders who he is. “41565, this is going to be your new owner.” Takahisa turns back to the guy in the sunglasses. “This is the one you wanted, correct?”
The guy nods and the Japanese man leaves without another word. Jinki blinks up at this stranger who just stares back. Jinki doesn’t even register the two by his side, both with dye jobs, one red, the other a honey brown.
“Can you not look at me like that, please?” The guy’s voice is deep and smooth like velvet and it’s comforting. “Anyway, welcome to your new home. I like to think of it as a refuge to those in captivity. I buy them through someone else, give them a place to stay until they get back on their feet, and if they really like here then they’re free to live here. But I could have sworn I asked for two of you. I’ll have to question Takahisa about that later though.”
Jinki winces, hoping that Kibum escaped.
“That aside, what’s your name? I’m sure it’s not number 41565.”
Jinki gazes at the guy, Minho he was called. He's handsome, Jinki thinks as he stares, not exactly his cup of tea, but handsome. His hair is short and a black that reminds him of a night with no stars, no moon in the countryside. His eyes are magnificent, though, and Jinki can see the life in the wide orbs. He briefly wonders what Minho sees gazing into his eyes but he fathoms that all there is, is the sight of death and pain and years of suffering.
Jinki wants to apologize for exposing Minho to his life through his eyes.
"J-Jinki. And are you sure it’s alright for me to stay here with you?" The elder asks, his voice small and afraid. It's been years since he's been able to speak freely for himself without having to worry about tellers and master carrying guns. He doesn't know what to do in this situation. The surrealism of it all is too much for him to handle. He wasn't used to this, will probably never be used to this. Captivity washes one of their basic social skills.
And Jinki knows he's been scrubbed clean.
Minho nods his head, small smile playing at his lips and the sight of something so friendly startles Jinki. What is this world he's living in now? He wants to say that it's another planet and that what he was previously living was Earth and this, this place with this big eyed boy and his smiles and his hospitality is something so far away from where he lived. Farther than Pluto. Farther than anything ever documented.
"There is no need for you to ask. You're safe now. No one is going to hurt you." He assures but his words fall on death ears. Jinki can't believe it, won't. Where he's lived there is no such thing as safe.
He's lost in his own country, his own planet.
But despite the confusion running rampant in Jinki's mind, the upturned corners of Minho's face calm him a bit and Jinki's shoulders slump and his face relaxes.
He's safe. No one is going to hurt him now.
The more time passes with the words lingering in between the two of them, the more it registers in his mind.
He's safe.
No more masters to threaten him. No more visions of walls splattered with blood. No more sitting in waiting rooms, contemplating on if this is the day he'll be sold to another man who'll treat him worse than the masters. No more captivity.
He's not only safe. ...He's free.
Warms fingers trail beneath his eyelids and the wetness smudges against his still dirty skin. Tears fall without restraint and it feels so good to cry, to just let everything out.
Jinki doesn't even remember the last time he's cried. Maybe it was when he was still a normal part of society, before his father lost all of his family's money gambling to his life's content and he was kidnapped from his home to repay the debts. Maybe it was the day his mother told him that everything was going to turn out okay. Maybe it was the day his father left or the day Jinki woke up surrounded by strangers bleeding out on the floor of the sector he was going to be spending the next ten years in.
"I think we should get you cleaned up, huh?" Minho questions, motioning for Jinki to follow him up the stairs of the grand house and into a bedroom down a long hallway. "I should have some clothes that'll fit you. Clothes that didn't fit Taemin.”
Jinki blinks at the name, wondering if Minho meant for him to know who this Taemin person is. The confusion is probably obvious on his face as Minho chuckles, waving his hand absentmindedly.
"Taemin is another that I bought a while ago. You walked past him when we walked in. He's the one with the reddish hair. A sweet kid. Jonghyun was the one next to him, kind of short, brown hair. He lives down the street."
Jinki nods and watches as Minho rummages through drawers and shelves until he picks out a few items and tosses them at Jinki. The latter points towards what Jinki assumes is the bathroom and he attempts a thankful smile.
Shuffling into the room, head down out of habit, Jinki glances at the clothes in his hand. He could care less that it's only a simple pair of grey sweatpants and a blue tee shirt but the fact that it's clean, smells like lavender detergent, and freedom overwhelm his senses. He spends a good five minutes just smelling the clothing.
It's when he feels like he's taking too much time does Jinki finally change, peeling off his rags with the utmost care because no matter how much he hated that place, these clothes are the remnants of his memories of Kibum. He considers asking Minho if he can keep them but then he wonders why he would ask him anyway. Minho even told him earlier that Jinki is free to do as he wishes. He's older than him also. Jinki can do anything.
Picking up the soiled clothes from the bathroom floor, he cradles them in his arms. It's time to let go, he thinks to himself and he knows that no matter how great his memories with his friend were, it won't be best to keep all of it. Maybe his left sock, once white almost black. Black with piles of dirt and the many things he could reminisce on hidden within the soil.
"I'm done."
Minho looks up from where he’s fiddling with his cell phone. “Oh, that’s great.” He looks down at the clothes in Jinki’s arms. “Are you going to get rid of those?” He questions and Jinki hesitates before he nods.
He tells Minho that he wants to wait until night to dispose of his clothing and his new lord, or friend maybe, doesn’t question him. So hours later when the clock strikes midnight, Jinki finds himself standing before his small pile of old clothes. He spends minutes just staring at the filthy linens on the floor and he feels like he just can’t toss them into the trash. Sighing he glances up and his eyes catch something on the dresser in the room Minho gave to him.
Picking up the clothes, he grabs the item from the dresser and heads outside. Still in the sweats, Jinki allows the cool air to caress his skin and it all feels so wonderful to be able to feel the breeze and see the shine of the moon. He dumps the clothing onto the grass just as Minho walks out.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“Cleansing myself. Say, do you have a lighter or a match?” Minho nods and disappears into the house. Jinki twirls the white candle in his hands, measuring its weight.
Minho returns and hands him a red lighter. “What are you using that candle for?”
Jinki looks up, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s sort of like a sacrifice. I’m burning my past with a white candle in order to find peace. White does symbolize peace, you know.”
He doesn’t glance up to see if Minho acknowledged what he said, focus primarily on the burning flame and the rising smoke carrying memories into the night sky.
♥♥♥
A/N: For shawol_haven 's 10th challenge. I try to stay away from this kind of story but if you really like it you're free to vote for it
Slavery (but not really) AU // PG-13
In that place, Jinki and Kibum were only numbers and things to be sold with just enough luck to escape death.
♥♥♥
“I heard the masters are going to do a clean-up of our sector soon. They’re supposed to be having foreign guests over to help boost business. Said they don’t want filth pushing them away.” A boy, supposedly around the age of seventeen, whispers, his head bowed and eyes glued to the floor as a teller walks past him, scanning the room. He peeks up through his fringe when the teller is on the other side of the room and locks eyes with his companion sitting across from him.
The other’s head is towards the ground also, shaggy chocolate hair all over the place. The boy, number 62308, thinks he’s sleeping yet he’s shown the opposite when the head lifts, black eyes filled with disbelief.
“Who told you that?” Number 41565 questions, his voice raspy from lack of use. He lifts a hand, pushing his hair out of his vision and stares. He’s older than number 62308 by a few years but living in the circuit erased any sense of time from them. No one knows how old they are. Only the newcomers, the ones brought in after a clean-up know. But they soon forget.
Number 41565 glances around the room when 62308 doesn’t reply right away. The room is small, the size of a high school classroom that can only fit twenty students but is forced to hold fifty. It reeks of bodily fluids that he doesn’t even want to identify with specific body parts and the walls, the floors, the people are stained. The once off-white walls are attacked with calls for help and groans of pain and surprisingly, despite the harsh smells and living conditions, he’s been told that his circuit is one of the nicest. He doesn’t believe it. He can’t. Because living here for years gives him a different perspective and he’s sure that this place is one of the worst no matter what anyone says.
There are ten beds, all queen-sized and while that may seem generous, it’s hardly so when each bed has to fit five or more fully grown people on them. Only those with injuries get a full bed to themselves, kicking the other four or so people off and into the other full beds.
He remembers when he was shot during a demonstration of what would happen should someone become disobedient towards the masters. He wasn’t even the one in the demonstration, just a bystander in the line of fire when the gun holder shot off in a random direction. It hit him in the thigh, just above his knee and while he was thoroughly taken care of by the healer, the dirty looks he was given by his bedmates that had to find other places to sleep were enough for the pain to be felt ten times as intense.
His friend sighs and number 41565 snaps his head back to look at him. “It doesn’t matter who told me, Jinki.” 62308 regards him with a glare. The use of his name makes him flinch because even though time has erased most of his memories of normal life, it hasn’t erased the name his mother gave him that one day in December. Jinki hates his name, he likes being number 41565 better because when he’s a number, he can pretend he isn’t really living like this.
Jinki shakes his head. “It does matter Kibum.” He says, firm and confident and a little naïve. “Just because you heard it from someone, it doesn't mean it's going to happen. The masters usually inform us of a clean-up at least two weeks in advance. You know how they talk about mental preparedness and all."
Kibum, or number 62308, stares at him and Jinki can see the disbelief in his eyes and a lingering shadow of comfort. Kibum was ready to die, came to terms with the thought, but Jinki was nowhere near prepared.
It turns out that what Kibum heard is right and two days later, with no warning at all, tellers show up with guns. That actually isn’t anything out of the ordinary but when they fire three shots at the ceiling, everyone scatters in panic.
The tellers line everyone up and escort them to Judgment, the room the clean-ups always took place. Jinki’s been here before and he always hoped he would never have to come back yet here he is again. Judgment is cleaner than the rooms they’re kept in but he knows the masters repaint the walls after each clean-up and underneath every new layer is crimson.
Inside the room are four masters standing in the center of the room, holding clipboards and conversing with one another. In any other situation Jinki would assume they’re conductors of an interview but he knows better, knows what’ll happen if luck isn’t on his side.
“Alright,” The master farthest away from Jinki starts. “Tidy up these lines a bit.” He snaps and everyone shuffles to perfect them though it really doesn’t matter. They’re all going to die anyway.
Jinki feels Kibum’s hand find his and their fingers intertwine. Jinki gives his hand a comforting squeeze even though nothing can comfort those who are staring death in the eye.
“As you all can tell, this is a clean-up. Business has been slow lately and we’ve been receiving word of new possible clients coming to town and we can’t have lowlifes turning them away.” The first master recites.
To the right of him, Jinki hears someone begin to protest. All of the masters turn their heads to the protester and the fourth master standing right in front of Jinki pulls his gun from the holster on his waist. There’s no warning before the sound of the gunshot bounces around the room. Jinki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; Kibum applies pressure to his grip on Jinki’s hand.
“Anyone else have something so say?” The first man in line, smirks and Jinki breaths again. “Alright then. Now we’re going to have a little test of luck. I’m thinking of a number between one and ten, if one of you guesses correctly, anyone called on the number will be spared; if the correct number is not said, we’re going to do it like we usually do, and if you can get out, you’ll live.”
Jinki watches as the second master, the only blond in the row of black hair, steps up with his eyes glued to his clipboard.
“Can number 41565 step up?” He calls and everything freezes around Jinki. If time did continue here, it just stopped, never to continue again. He doesn’t even feel Kibum release his hand to elbow him in the ribs.
This can’t be happening, he chants to under his breath, because he refuses to acknowledge it. But while he fails at convincing himself that he wasn’t just called on, he inches forward, slipping past those in the room in front of his and into the master’s view.
He wonders if he’ll be shot for peeing himself.
Metaphorically speaking.
He bows his head, knowing that not doing so is considered disobedience. Only a few seconds pass before the blond master tells him to lift his head. Slowly, Jinki does as he’s told and soon he’s gazing into menacing black holes.
The master grins yet Jinki knows it’s not out of happiness or humor. “Like I said, I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. What is it?”
Jinki blinks. He can’t be serious. But then, does this mean he’s spared?
“I asked you what number I’m thinking of.” Jinki can hear the impatience in the man’s voice yet he just can’t seem to get his throat to open so that he can speak, emit a sound, anything.
“S-Six.” He stutters out and then there is laughter from the masters.
"Are you sure about that? You don't sound too sure." The blond master jokes and the other masters continue on in their laughter and Jinki wants nothing more for them to shoot him now because playing it out isn't making his heart beat any slower.
"I-I'm sure. Six." He says and he bows his head to the floor again as the laughter goes from mocking to boisterous. The sound makes his insides crawl and he can feel the tension rise in the room. There are so many unanswered questions.
Is six the right number? Are we all going to die?
What are they laughing about?
But then the laughter ceases with a gunshot to the ceiling and Jinki hopes that he didn't flinch. The silence is different from before. This silence is heavier, filled with trepidation and sweet Jesus can they just get it over with because-
"It seems like today is your lucky day...for some of you at least. Six was the correct answer."
And Jinki mental heaves a sigh of relief. He's free to live until another clean-up.
The masters don't spend any time before they start counting off and a teller walks up to Jinki, gun in hand and blank expression on his face. He leads Jinki towards the door, allowing him to watch as each sixth person is told to step out of the mass and to leave. The first row goes by faster than Jinki hoped it would and soon they're on the second row. The row where Kibum is standing with his hands balled into fists and teeth digging into his lower lip. Jinki prays for him from his place by the door but as the masters approach his friend he wonders if his prayers will be answered.
He blocks off the sound of everything but the calling out of the masters.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
And then Jinki's eye go wide and the noise of the shuffling feet and the groans of pain are assault his ears again. Kibum is number one on the next count. Jinki feels his heart drop to this stomach, feels the organ burn in the acidity of the liquid residing in the organ, feels his heart pass through his intestines, almost feels himself wet his pants. So close, but not close enough.
Kibum glances over at him and when they lock eyes, Jinki sees the readiness. Kibum is ready to die, he knows, noticed earlier but Jinki isn't ready to die or ready for his friend to die.
The rest of the counting doesn't even make it into Jinki's head. All he can hear, all he can see is Kibum waiting in the mass waiting to be massacred.
"You....hey you. Number 41565." He feels a tap on his shoulder and he jumps. The teller to the right of him shakes his head and warns him not to be so jumpy with his movement. He tells Jinki that he's been bought and that he has the option of bringing someone along.
"Who would you like to bring with you?"
And Jinki wastes no time in spouting out Kibum's number to the man. He hopes the man hears the raw feeling in his voice, the need for the only friend in this place to be with him. The teller nods, more to himself than to Jinki, and heads off to the four masters who are finally finished with their choosing.
He watches the men converse and Jinki can see one of the masters, one with dark muddy hair and a tattoo of a lock and key on his neck walk over to those waiting for death. He turns back to the teller when he reaches them for what Jinki thinks is a confirmation before grabbing Kibum by the arm and dragging him out.
Letting out a sigh of relief under his breath, Jinki allows himself to relax if only mentally. Kibum'll live. And just that thought alone soothes Jinki's soul and makes everything okay.
The tattooed master brings Kibum to his side and the two automatically latch hands. It isn't obvious, but Jinki thinks he can see a light fill Kibum's eyes. The light of life.
Tossed out of the room along with the other survivors, Jinki doesn't waste a second before covering his ears. It helps none. The gunshots and the screams are too loud but the feeling of his arms cradling his head acts as some kind of off balance security blanket.
The nine of them head down the hallway, the sounds of the pain lessening with each step. It isn't until they reach the end of the dimly lit passage does the teller guiding them turn to face them.
"41565 and 62308, you have an offer waiting for you in Temptation." Temptation, the room where they are usually sold to clients. "The rest of you will follow me back to your holding place. The newcomers should have already settled in."
Jinki and Kibum glance at each other before nodding simultaneously.
If there's one thing that's about as terrifying as a clean-up, it's a selling. Clients could be even worse than the masters. The masters kept them fed, clean - to an extent -and healthy - also to an extent - but clients, soon to be lords could starve them, chain then to walls, anything.
Temptation is an elegant room with cream wall paint and tan hardwood floors. There is a Maplewood desk in front of the window in the center of the room. There are no chairs, as the selling process is generally quick. 18th century French paintings litter the walls.
Before the table stands a man.
"Takahisa-san, it's nice to see you." The blond master enters the room, lightly shutting the door behind him. "This is number 41565...and the one he chose to bring with him, 62308."
The Japanese man nods. "Karera wa ii. Ikura desuka?" (They are good. How much?)
"500,000 yen."
"...Wakarimasu." (I understand.)
And minutes later Jinki and Kibum are told to follow the man out. Their new lord.
"Jinki..." Kibum nudges him as he whispers. He turns to look at the younger. "We can go. Like...escape."
The elder's eyes widen. "Kibum you can't be serious...and our lord is only a meter ahead of us. What if he hears you?"
"The man doesn't even speak Korean." Kibum sighs, shaking his head. "Look if you don't want to come with me and stay here like an idiot then at least watch my back okay? I didn't sit in that hellhole for three years just to become a slave."
"Kibum you can't-"
"But I will." Kibum presses a hand to Jinki's arm, stopping him. They gaze at each other, their lord walking away obliviously. "Come with me."
"I-I can't. I...Kibum." Jinki shakes his head. He's going to lose his best friend.
"Then, I'll go and come find you later. Stay alive, okay." Kibum says, gives Jinki a winning smile, and then he's gone.
Jinki can't fight that sinking feeling in his gut. And then he knows that he should have told Kibum to stay alive because when he caught up to his lord he heard the man speaking in very clear Korean.
"One of them just tried to escape. Find him and if he puts up a struggle, control him."
Jinki prays Kibum can run fast but then he hears a wail and hopes it’s just someone getting mugged.
"Minho..." A boy, probably around Kibum’s age, turns around, hands stuffed in his pockets. Designer shades cover the majority of his face and Jinki wonders who he is. “41565, this is going to be your new owner.” Takahisa turns back to the guy in the sunglasses. “This is the one you wanted, correct?”
The guy nods and the Japanese man leaves without another word. Jinki blinks up at this stranger who just stares back. Jinki doesn’t even register the two by his side, both with dye jobs, one red, the other a honey brown.
“Can you not look at me like that, please?” The guy’s voice is deep and smooth like velvet and it’s comforting. “Anyway, welcome to your new home. I like to think of it as a refuge to those in captivity. I buy them through someone else, give them a place to stay until they get back on their feet, and if they really like here then they’re free to live here. But I could have sworn I asked for two of you. I’ll have to question Takahisa about that later though.”
Jinki winces, hoping that Kibum escaped.
“That aside, what’s your name? I’m sure it’s not number 41565.”
Jinki gazes at the guy, Minho he was called. He's handsome, Jinki thinks as he stares, not exactly his cup of tea, but handsome. His hair is short and a black that reminds him of a night with no stars, no moon in the countryside. His eyes are magnificent, though, and Jinki can see the life in the wide orbs. He briefly wonders what Minho sees gazing into his eyes but he fathoms that all there is, is the sight of death and pain and years of suffering.
Jinki wants to apologize for exposing Minho to his life through his eyes.
"J-Jinki. And are you sure it’s alright for me to stay here with you?" The elder asks, his voice small and afraid. It's been years since he's been able to speak freely for himself without having to worry about tellers and master carrying guns. He doesn't know what to do in this situation. The surrealism of it all is too much for him to handle. He wasn't used to this, will probably never be used to this. Captivity washes one of their basic social skills.
And Jinki knows he's been scrubbed clean.
Minho nods his head, small smile playing at his lips and the sight of something so friendly startles Jinki. What is this world he's living in now? He wants to say that it's another planet and that what he was previously living was Earth and this, this place with this big eyed boy and his smiles and his hospitality is something so far away from where he lived. Farther than Pluto. Farther than anything ever documented.
"There is no need for you to ask. You're safe now. No one is going to hurt you." He assures but his words fall on death ears. Jinki can't believe it, won't. Where he's lived there is no such thing as safe.
He's lost in his own country, his own planet.
But despite the confusion running rampant in Jinki's mind, the upturned corners of Minho's face calm him a bit and Jinki's shoulders slump and his face relaxes.
He's safe. No one is going to hurt him now.
The more time passes with the words lingering in between the two of them, the more it registers in his mind.
He's safe.
No more masters to threaten him. No more visions of walls splattered with blood. No more sitting in waiting rooms, contemplating on if this is the day he'll be sold to another man who'll treat him worse than the masters. No more captivity.
He's not only safe. ...He's free.
Warms fingers trail beneath his eyelids and the wetness smudges against his still dirty skin. Tears fall without restraint and it feels so good to cry, to just let everything out.
Jinki doesn't even remember the last time he's cried. Maybe it was when he was still a normal part of society, before his father lost all of his family's money gambling to his life's content and he was kidnapped from his home to repay the debts. Maybe it was the day his mother told him that everything was going to turn out okay. Maybe it was the day his father left or the day Jinki woke up surrounded by strangers bleeding out on the floor of the sector he was going to be spending the next ten years in.
"I think we should get you cleaned up, huh?" Minho questions, motioning for Jinki to follow him up the stairs of the grand house and into a bedroom down a long hallway. "I should have some clothes that'll fit you. Clothes that didn't fit Taemin.”
Jinki blinks at the name, wondering if Minho meant for him to know who this Taemin person is. The confusion is probably obvious on his face as Minho chuckles, waving his hand absentmindedly.
"Taemin is another that I bought a while ago. You walked past him when we walked in. He's the one with the reddish hair. A sweet kid. Jonghyun was the one next to him, kind of short, brown hair. He lives down the street."
Jinki nods and watches as Minho rummages through drawers and shelves until he picks out a few items and tosses them at Jinki. The latter points towards what Jinki assumes is the bathroom and he attempts a thankful smile.
Shuffling into the room, head down out of habit, Jinki glances at the clothes in his hand. He could care less that it's only a simple pair of grey sweatpants and a blue tee shirt but the fact that it's clean, smells like lavender detergent, and freedom overwhelm his senses. He spends a good five minutes just smelling the clothing.
It's when he feels like he's taking too much time does Jinki finally change, peeling off his rags with the utmost care because no matter how much he hated that place, these clothes are the remnants of his memories of Kibum. He considers asking Minho if he can keep them but then he wonders why he would ask him anyway. Minho even told him earlier that Jinki is free to do as he wishes. He's older than him also. Jinki can do anything.
Picking up the soiled clothes from the bathroom floor, he cradles them in his arms. It's time to let go, he thinks to himself and he knows that no matter how great his memories with his friend were, it won't be best to keep all of it. Maybe his left sock, once white almost black. Black with piles of dirt and the many things he could reminisce on hidden within the soil.
"I'm done."
Minho looks up from where he’s fiddling with his cell phone. “Oh, that’s great.” He looks down at the clothes in Jinki’s arms. “Are you going to get rid of those?” He questions and Jinki hesitates before he nods.
He tells Minho that he wants to wait until night to dispose of his clothing and his new lord, or friend maybe, doesn’t question him. So hours later when the clock strikes midnight, Jinki finds himself standing before his small pile of old clothes. He spends minutes just staring at the filthy linens on the floor and he feels like he just can’t toss them into the trash. Sighing he glances up and his eyes catch something on the dresser in the room Minho gave to him.
Picking up the clothes, he grabs the item from the dresser and heads outside. Still in the sweats, Jinki allows the cool air to caress his skin and it all feels so wonderful to be able to feel the breeze and see the shine of the moon. He dumps the clothing onto the grass just as Minho walks out.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“Cleansing myself. Say, do you have a lighter or a match?” Minho nods and disappears into the house. Jinki twirls the white candle in his hands, measuring its weight.
Minho returns and hands him a red lighter. “What are you using that candle for?”
Jinki looks up, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s sort of like a sacrifice. I’m burning my past with a white candle in order to find peace. White does symbolize peace, you know.”
He doesn’t glance up to see if Minho acknowledged what he said, focus primarily on the burning flame and the rising smoke carrying memories into the night sky.
♥♥♥
A/N: For shawol_haven 's 10th challenge. I try to stay away from this kind of story but if you really like it you're free to vote for it