{exo} In Pace Requiescat (2/2)
title: In Pace Requiescat
pairing: Kai/D.O., Xiumin/Luhan, Tao/Sehun
word count: 13,317 words
rating: R
summary: The best camping trips are worth dying for. Literally.
warnings: (highlight to see) multiple character deaths, cliche (because i suck)
part 1
“I told you splitting up wasn’t a good idea. Haven’t you watched horror movies? Everybody starts dying right after they split up! Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Zitao whines, swatting away the insects that zoom towards him as he is following Luhan’s trek deeper into the forest. “This is so unfair, nobody ever listens to me. Is it because I’m in the maknae line?”
“Shut up Zitao, who the hell do you think would listen to someone wearing a jacket with leopard prints along with a neon blue skinny jeans for a trip to the forest, anyway?” Luhan snaps, but he keeps moving at a steady pace, grumbling that in Zitao’s past life, he was probably a soldier who goes off to war wearing glittering silver stilettos.
Zitao complains some more at this, and Luhan launches into his carefully memorized accounts of Zitao wearing the most inappropriate clothes at the most inappropriate moments, like that one time Zitao insisted on wearing Airport Fashion for a futuristic-themed Christmas Party, or that one Halloween when he chose to wear his usual clothes with an additional array of obnoxious accessories, saying that he’s come to the party dressed as himself because he’s one hell of a celebrity (“But if you’re a celebrity, then why haven’t we seen you on t.v.? Not even in the local channels?” Junmyeon inadvertently asks, to which Zitao rolls his eyes and replies with a “Omg hyung, you don’t just ask someone why they’re a celebrity!” proud that he was able to use a Mean Girls quote as a reference for the first time in the ten years since the movie was launched. Junmyeon only gives him a quizzical look, having no idea what Zitao’s point was. “Pff, old, unfashionable people,” he mutters). Luhan could keep at it at any time of the day until he has recounted all of Zitao’s bullshit, but the venomous glare the younger man throws at him melts through, and he ends up laughing at Zitao as the latter gave up.
“Where the hell are they, anyway?” Zitao gripes with a pout. It’s the first time he’s been separated from Sehun since their little trip started that he seems to have forgotten what it feels like without the other guy’s presence. He is still thankful though that he is with Luhan, because he could use the older one’s company now, even if they don’t really get along that much.
A blood-curdling scream breaks through the forest, sending away the migrating birds that had just finished settling in on their new nests. Luhan looks at Zitao with fear in his eyes. “I’m afraid we’re about to know now.”
☠☠☠
Minseok’s last memory of his best friend isn’t actually a nice one, and his heart constricts whenever he remembers Jongdae’s retreating back, guilt gnawing at the sides of his mind whenever he recalls his buddy’s hurt expression and bitter smile. Every step of the way feels heavier than the last, and Minseok couldn’t help but think that his feet are turning into lead.
He plans on apologizing the first time he lays eyes on his best friend, but he isn’t able to do that, for when he spots Jongdae sitting with his back propped against the wall of an abandoned house at the top of a hill a little ways from the forest, the name he has been calling out for hours is stuck on his throat. Jongdae’s head is bent down, still and unresponsive. Curious, Minseok continues his steps. His eyes go wide as he takes in the whole scene with his own eyes.
Jongdae might as well have been sleeping, but the gaping hole in his stomach and the lacerations on his limbs tells Minseok of another story, one that he has only seen in thriller/horror-themed movies. His heart lurches in his chest and is grabbed down to his stomach as he comes to terms with the fact that it has been hours since Jongdae’s life has already seeped out of him.
On the wall behind Jongdae, written in alarmingly red stains were the words, “You’re next.”
Minseok’s blood rush to his ears, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, following the outline of his features as they drip down his face, and he blinks back tears and swallows his fear. His heart hammers wildly against his ribs as he struggles to breathe. He tries to pry his eyes away from such gruesome sight, but terror already has a chokehold on him, and he falls on his knees, hands shaking with such ferocity and lips trembling. He is too preoccupied by the sudden rush of emotions in his system that he doesn’t notice the other things written on the wall, things like the stiffly straight number one succeeding a scraggly-looking number zero which is nearer Jongdae’s body than the threat, written over his head in bright read letters that look suspiciously a lot like blood.
Sehun runs to his hyung’s side immediately, not stopping to catch his breath when he finally catches up. He holds Minseok’s shoulders in a firm yet comforting grip as the smaller man’s body is violently wracked with broken sobs. Minseok’s howls of anguish are ringing loud in his ears that he doesn’t hear something snapping inside his oldest hyung.
“Sehun,” he gulps, and Sehun isn’t sure if he should pity his hyung or fear him. “He’s going to kill me. He says I’m next.” Minseok hears a chain swinging methodically in the distance, chiming an eerie melody. His cling on the younger boy’s clothes tightens.
“No hyung, no one’s after you,” Sehun rubs soothing circles against Minseok’s back, attempting to calm the older one down. “Calm down hyung. How about we go find the others and-“
“You’re with him, aren’t you?” Minseok cuts him off, sending him into a state of confused panic.
“What are you talking about, hyung? Why-“
“You are!” Minseok stands up abruptly and moves to run away, but Sehun catches his wrist in a steady grip. “Look hyung, whatever it is about, I know you’re scared, but I am too. We all are.”
But Minseok doesn’t notice the strain behind Sehun’s gentle tone, or the pain and fear lacing it. “No, stay away from me!” he struggles.
“Hyung, listen to me, please.” Sehun pleads, tears fogging his vision. He has always looked up to Minseok for being so reliable and responsible, but he has never imagined Minseok to break this easily.
“No, go away!” Minseok pushes his dongsaeng away with all his might. The force of the action causes Sehun to stagger backward, and before he could even react, his back hits the metal frame of the open windowpane and he tips over, like a retreating hand after it has been burnt.
Minseok gasps trepidation coating his mixed-up emotions when he realizes what he has done. The word “murderer” dances around his mind, and he tries to push away the images of Jongdae laughing at him, voice high and full of transgression. He feels like his throat is barred up with an emotion that he is now so easily familiar with, but a scream escapes his mouth before he even knows what he is doing.
He can’t take it back now.
So he flees the scene and looks for Luhan, because that is the only logical thought that he is able to think now.
8 people left.
☠☠☠
“Where the hell is he?” Luhan taps his foot on the untended grass bed impatiently, eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of the presence of some lavender-haired boy. “You’re supposed to help me out, Zitao. That’s what you’re here for.”
“But I’m tired,” Zitao whines, plopping down to sit as comfortably as he can on a log. It’s not sturdy enough, definitely far from being comfortable, and it’s also not worth of having Zitao’s ass propped over it, but it’d have to do. “And if you weren’t such an ass, we wouldn’t have lost each other in the first place.” He whispers in as an afterthought.
“Then if you’re so tired and can’t stand up to help, peel this and do something useful.” Luhan throws an apple in his direction, and if Zitao wasn’t coordinated, it would’ve hit him right between the eyes. He fusses quietly over his hyung’s bitchiness and takes out the swiss knife that he always keeps in his pocket only to be used when the going gets tough. He’s hungry anyway. That counts as an emergency, right? His stomach grumbles in agreement.
Luhan’s eyes wander but he remains in his spot with his back to the Zitao, afraid that the younger male will start crying and attract too much attention if he as much as takes a step forward even though the latter’s arguably taller and scary-looking. He hears the faint sound of a whimper, and something might have hit the ground because he hears a loud thud.
“Zitao, what-“he feels a cold hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving.
“Ssh, don’t move,” a familiar voice whispers in his ear, and he shivers because the voice that he is so used to hearing whispering sweet nothings sounds alarmingly foreign. “It’s ok, you’re safe now.”
Luhan is struck with apprehension, all the alarm bells going off in his head. “Minseok, what did you?” he tries to keep his tone neutral, gentle even, but his voice catches in his throat. Minseok doesn’t seem to notice this though.
“I was just protecting you! He was going to kill us all!” Minseok’s eyes are darting around, hair in disarray and hands streaked with Zitao’s blood. A sharp stone is in his right hand, and if you don’t look close enough, you would probably think that the stone has a natural shade of ruby red.
“Minseok…” Luhan’s voice is soothing, but it isn’t enough to take all the fear away from Minseok’s mind.
“No, don’t look back. Luhan, please, don’t,” Minseok pleads. “If you really love me, please, don’t look back.” Luhan feels his mouth has gone dry, feeling betrayed that Minseok is pulling that card right now. There is no question for how much he loves the other man that he’d be willing to trade places with the guy right now, even go to hell and back just for Minseok.
But Luhan’s conscience is struggling against his feelings, and he couldn’t help but see in fleeting an image of Zitao’s smiling face, laughing at something stupid he had said.
And so, he turns around, and ends up with his back to the forest floor, blood trickling down his lips and falling down his chin, a peaceful look in his face. Minseok’s hands fall slack against his sides and he drops the stone now thickly colored in a shade of burgundy. He grabs his hair as anxiety overpowers him and he staggers backwards, feeling the guilt gnawing on every part of his being. “Why’d you have to turn back? I told you not to!” he cries, and he is unable to keep standing upright, feeling his heart break into pieces just as shards of glass would when they fall broken beyond repair.
Minseok kisses Luhan’s head and cradles his lover’s dying body in his arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go this way. I’m going to fix this; I’m going to end this right now.”
He goes for the swiss knife still in Zitao’s lifeless hands, planning to take away his own life as he finds that it has no purpose anymore, but he is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Minseok turns in alarm, only to be met by the barrel of a gun shoved into his mouth. “What were you thinking, hording all of my kills? That’s very impolite of you, hyung,” A figure he has never expected to see at the moment looks at him with pity, eyes gentle and features mellow, and it would have looked as if the person was going to console Minseok, if it wasn’t for the gun in his hands. “What would Luhan say about that? Oh wait; he can’t say anything because you killed him already.” He sneers, and buries the barrel deeper into Minseok’s mouth.
The person’s features soften once more, feigning sympathy. “Now, why would you kill yourself? The game’s just starting to get interesting, isn’t it?” tears flood Minseok’s vision, and all he thinks before the figure pulls the trigger is that if an afterlife really does exist, he hopes to see Luhan there. And that hopefully, during that lifetime, things wouldn’t have to end this way.
“Tsk, so regretful,” the guy wipes the gun’s barrel on Minseok’s shirt with adept hands. “If I wasn’t able to get here in time, then you wouldn’t you be unlucky enough to not have died by my hands? We couldn’t have that, couldn’t we?” Minseok doesn’t answer. How could he though, when he’s already dead? His killer answers for him, anyway. “Of course, because if you kill yourself, then where’s the fun in that?”
He straightens his back and walks back to the passage where he slipped into. “Oh, so we’re down to five people?” he recounts the deaths again with his fingers and smiles to himself. “Five people already? Wow, I wasn’t expecting things to go this easily. Time really does go by fast when you’re enjoying.”
The sun is painted red with the crimson shade of the blood of four people who have died that day.
5 people left.
☠☠☠
“Don’t you think he’s too weird?” Yifan whispers quietly to Jongin. He originally started looking through the forest to help find Jongdae with Kyungsoo, Jongin, Junmyeon, and Yixing alongside him, but they got split up along the way. He finds himself re-acquainted with Jongin and Kyungsoo minutes later, but he flinches and thinks twice about striking up a greeting when he sees Kyungsoo bent down and concentrating on stabbing a stick on the ground.
“Nah, it’s okay,” Jongin shakes his head. (He’s cute! And he seems really nice. If he isn’t staring at you as if he’s scrutinizing every pore on your skin and every fiber of your being, that is. But maybe it’s because he has astigmatism? That’s what he told me, anyway) “He’s a really nice guy. And no, he didn’t try to stab me with that stick,” Jongin reassures Yifan even before the older guy could ask. “He told me he was trying to look for water because he got thirsty. And if you could find a source of water, then wouldn’t you be able to track down where the river is, too?”
Yifan nods. He hasn’t thought of it that way. “Chanyeol told me before that he and Baekhyun tried to engage Kyungsoo in a conversation once, but... well, to put it simply, it didn’t go very well,” he smiles, remembering the sight of Kyungsoo’s infamous jujitsu move being used on Chanyeol because the oaf made the mistake of calling him a hundred and sixty-eight centimeters of squishiness and Baekhyun stepping in to stop the commotion. The memory of Kyungsoo shrieking “I am not a hundred and sixty eight centimeters, I am well over a hundred and seventy!” as he chases Chanyeol around with Baekhyun in tow embeds itself in Yifan’s memory, and he almost laughs, if it wasn’t for his recollection of Chanyeol’s pale skin, his blue veins popping out, giving him a sickly pallor and Baekhyun’s blood-shot eyes and the red line running along his neck like an over worn necklace.
Jongin pats him in the back, eyes clearly portraying how much he misses his hyungs. “Yeah, they also told me that they saw Kyungsoo laughing in front of the mirror, looking like a maniac,” there’s that distant look in Jongin’s eyes, and Yifan would have thought he imagined it, if it weren’t for the fact that he saw the emotion flit by Jongin’s eyes himself.
“Guys!” Junmyeon breaks the moment by barging in through the bushes, eyes wild and searching as he pants as if he was hanging on for dear life. Yixing follows closely by, eyes puffy and rimmed with tears. “Something… Something just happened.”
Kyungsoo stands up and dusts off the dirt from his hands on his pants. “Spill it,” where his simple words. Junmyeon looks at Yixing for back up, and the latter grips at his shoulder for support, nodding in encouragement. “We found Jongdae’s…body,” he swallows thickly. “Along with Sehun, Zitao, Luhan and Minseok.”
“Wait, what?” Jongin looks confused. “What-what happened?”
Yixing speaks up this time, and he grimaces at the bad news hanging off his tongue. “We believe that they’ve been murdered.”
☠☠☠
“That forest is haunted, what the hell were you kids thinking, going there for a camping trip? Is this some sort of game to you?” an old lady scolds them. The five of them came down to the village to report the murders and ask around for help of identifying who the murderer is, but they didn’t expect someone to cause some hullaballoo over the whole thing.
“Really? Hm… none of my father’s agents told me that when I asked for suggestions for a good place to camp in…” Junmyeon rubs at his chin thoughtfully, trying to make some sense out of the whole situation. Too bad the whole situation doesn’t make any sense at all. Yifan nudges Junmyeon’s ribs with that ridiculously sharp elbow of his, and Junmyeon would’ve punched the daylights out of the tall guy if it weren’t for the fact that Yifan was mouthing for him to be careful of the things he’s saying because the witch might jinx them (and Junmyeon couldn’t throw a decent punch anyway, so it’s a win-win situation).
“No one can help you once you’re under the ghost’s radar!” she shrieks
“Tch. Such a distasteful brat.” The woman shakes her head, her dirty, messy hair that looks as if it hasn’t been washed for weeks moving along with her head. “How about you, kid, do you believe in ghosts?”she turns her full attention to Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon is relieved that the woman’s withering stare isn’t on him, albeit he’s still worried that Kyungsoo might get diarrhea from the woman’s glance alone, even though the idea sounds preposterous.
“No,” and he manages to hastily add a “but I do believe in curses,” before the woman could give him the evil eye.
The woman nods. “Very well. But that is just apt, because the curse is everywhere!” she makes a grand gesture with her hands. “His scent is all over you,” she points to Yixing, and he innocently points to himself. “Me? Why me?” he asks Yifan, who is the nearest person. “Why me? What does that mean?” he cluelessly asks Kyungsoo, who is standing on his left side. The old lady continues to point each of them out, and Kyungsoo simply shrugs, as if to say, “Beats me.”
She her finger stops in front of Junmyeon’s face and her strong gaze pierces through his skull. “I’m afraid you’re next, dearie.” She gently pats his cheek with a wrinkled hand, as if she just told him to stop eating too many cookies because it’ll be bad for his health.
He flinches as if he’s burned by her touch, but he smiles in compensation. He gingerly removes her hold on his face. “Very well then, I will simply let the gods be the panel who I stand before as they judge my fate,” he nods to his companions, and they silently thank him because their distaste for the woman’s presence is clear in their faces. “Thank you, madam. We shall take our leave now. Thank you very much for your help.” He bows politely, and the other four manage a stiff and abrupt nod as they hastily take their parting.
Junmyeon shakes his head, utterly unconvinced of any hillbillies that couldn’t be explained by concretes facts and evidences. Junmyeon will always be the leader-type, no nonsense guy, after all. (Too bad everything is all comprised of nonsense words and incomprehensible actions)
But perhaps they should’ve believed what the crazy old woman said, because from what the police tells them two weeks later, right when they think that everything is finally okay and that things are eventually going back to normal, there was no sufficient evidence for murder. No trace of the murderer could be found, if there really was one. The old woman would’ve laughed off right in their faces, starting off with “I told you so”, elaborately telling them that it’s because the murderer himself ceases to exist, and ending with a “Now you’ll be cursed forever”.
“You believe in curses?” Jongin half-jogs to match his steps with Kyungsoo’s. Kyungsoo notices this, so he slows down his usually fast strides. Even for his short legs, he really walks fast. Maybe because he’s so used to running away from people who like throwing things at him and calling him murderer because of his father’s reputation.
Kyungsoo shrugs. “Well, why not? I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
Jongin nods, trying to match the look on Kyungsoo’s face with something floating in his memory. He couldn’t quite remember it, but he’s sure he’d seen that expression before. “Good point. But… well… y’know. They seem illogical?”
“Yes, I know but… I believe in the power that could transform hatred into something much more sinister.”
“Well, if you hate a person, then wouldn’t killing them off be the best idea instead? Curses aren’t really reliable, and they could even backfire on you, right?”
Kyungsoo seems to ponder well about Jongin’s question. Seconds later, he chooses the words for his answer carefully. “Well if a person simply hates you, he just could’ve killed you. That way he could’ve gotten rid of you easily, right? But a curse? Ah, well that’s a different story,” he nods, mostly to encourage himself to continue talking because how can he think straight, when Jongin’s bare arm is brushing up against his sleeve? He curses not being frank enough to tell Jongin to wear something that isn’t distracting or flashy. But maybe Jongin did really get out of his way to wear something distracting so he could sit back and watch the fleeting emotions pass by Kyungsoo’s eyes, the only permanent thing being the splash of color on his cheeks. “A curse takes time, patience, and utter devotion. So if someone curses you, I highly doubt he simply hates your guts. Or your face. Or you as a whole, generally speaking.”
Jongin bumps against his shoulder, and he half-wonders if the younger lad was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he was just touchy-feely today. Or maybe he’s just really actually clumsy. (But if Jongin really was clumsy, Kyungsoo would never have noticed that because all he could remember is the gracefulness of Jongin’s movements and the lithe movement of his muscles everytime Kyungsoo not-so-secretly watches him perform for intermission numbers back in school). “Well, if you’re given the chance, would you put a curse on me?”
Kyungsoo is surprised at the sudden question that he almost trips on his own two feet, but Jongin is quick to act and catcheshim by the hand. “W-why are you suddenly asking me that?”
Jongin shrugs. “I don’t know, I just want to know.”
“Well uhm… No. I wouldn’t.” because I’d rather kill everyone in this world just to let you live. Oh wait that sounds cheesy. Kyungsoo almost slaps himself for thinking anything like that. Fuck you Kim Jongin, for making me have feelings.(But he just might kill someone from all the fuzzy feelings in his stomach when Jongin beams down at him with a smile that could blind even the sun.
“C’mon hyung, walk faster. Your legs are too short.” Jongin jokes, tugging at his sleeve, and Kyungsoo is sure that he is supposed to choke anyone who makes any height-related jokes at him, but the command his brain sends to his arms fails to execute because Kim fucking Jongin is grabbing his hand and making a run for it.
“Oi, lovebirds, cut that out! Go get a room first before you go suck face!” Yifan shouts from a distance, and Kyungsoo could see Junmyeon’s sneaky smile and Yixing’s approving thumbs up sign. And without knowing much why, Kyungsoo smiles back at them as he runs along to the beat of Jongin’s feet tapping against the pavement.
Everything falls back and fades into the background, and worry tugs at the back of Kyungsoo’s mind, telling him to stop being all giggly because either a killer is still on the loose or a vengeful ghost is chasing after them, but he ignores it, telling it to shut up and let him be selfish for once.
The scenery is picture-perfect, and it would be the perfect ending to a really sad story, except it isn’t yet. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind, because he believes that despite all the setbacks, something good just might happen.
There are still so many things to fuss about when they get back to the city, but right now, he basks in the instance of Jongin holding his hand and carves it deep into his memory, promising that he will take it to his grave.
Kyungsoo feels kind of bad for thinking about being happy at a time like this, but at that moment, there was nothing else that seemed to matter but Jongin and their linked hands.
☠☠☠
Now that Junmyeon thinks about it, Kyungsoo does seem capable of manning a pet shop. The only thing that bothers him is the fact that he used to think that Kyungsoo was the type of guy who would skin his pet dog for a new hat because of his reputation. But throughout the few days he’s been with the boy, he couldn’t help but think otherwise. Maybe the boy with the big eyes and the heart-shaped smile isn’t the type of person to knock at your door and then pour gasoline all over you, after all.
“How did you guys find out that I worked here, though?” Kyungsoo asks, pouring the contents of a bag of dog food into three metal bowls. He leaves the bowls in a cage filled with dogs that Junmyeon recognized as Shitzus when he finishes filling the containers up.
“Ah, well you know, Jongin was sta-I mean Jongin here just happened to pass by this place yesterday and told me that we should go visit you,” Junmyeon says between clenched teeth and a forced smile, hastily correcting himself when Jongin elbows him hard in the ribs. It’ll probably bruise, and he swears he’ll have to find himself a new set of friends once he moves into his new apartment.
“Really? Then would you guys want to buy pets too?” Kyungsoo’s question is full of wonder and the shy smile he gives them is full of hope that even if Jongin already has three dogs back at home and Junmyeon starts saying “Probably not,” Jongin risks stepping on his hyung’s foot just to shut him up and not mess with how he wants things to proceed. At times like this, Junmyeon really wishes that Jongin dragged Yixing here instead. He’s Jongin’s childhood friend, after all, and the one that’s closest to being his best friend. Not Junmyeon. But Yixing had a performance until late in the evening (all the more reason why Junmyeon hates the dance club because now no one can save his ass from Jongin) for a post-graduation celebration that the dance club was holding in honor of the graduating class.
(Jongin’s been friends with Yixing since the latter moved to Korea with his family around eight years ago to study, and the fact that Jongin chose to go to Kyungsoo’s work place first before setting off to watch Yixing’s recital is something, Junmyeon thinks. And even that is saying something)
“I’ll be waiting outside. Looks like you’ll need some alone time with your… friend.” Junmyeon supplies, not wanting to be bullied into shutting up by the younger one anymore. He’s out of the pet shop’s door before Jongin or Kyungsoo could even protest. The night’s cold air makes its way through the metal sliding door, making Kyungsoo shiver from the chill the wind sends through his sweater.
Jongin rubs the back of his neck, feeling a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that it’s only him and Kyungsoo occupying the room, breathing in the same air in perfect cadence. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something stupid or make a silly remark, but what he hears is a scream that isn’t his own-a scream that came from outside the building that he quickly matches with a face in mind.
Kyungsoo stops halfway into filling up another tray of food, and bolts ahead outside, the forgotten dog food spilling all over the shop’s counter with Jongin hot on his heels.
They both stop in front of a body right in front of the door, blood covering the victim’s entire face and pieces of broken pottery and soil scattered all over the cemented ground surrounding him. But they do recognize the clothes, and it’s painful enough to take in that Jongin has to look away, tears stinging his eyes. He wonders if what the old lady said about a ghost following them around and having them cursed is true.
Kyungsoo however, thinks otherwise as he stares at the daisy looking up at him in a mocking manner, it’s blood-soaked petals forming a sneer.
4 people left. The game is almost over.
☠☠☠
“Where are you right now?” Jongin asks, dropping formalities and forgetting all forms of honorifics and proper conversational etiquette. Frustration, panic and paranoia coats his voice, and even Yifan could sense that there was something off about Jongin even if he was kilometers away.
“I’m on my way to Yixing’s recital. Why? You want me to pick you up?” Yifan keeps his gaze on the road steady, left hand holding his cell phone and right hand firmly gripping the car’s steering wheel. The dark has never bothered him even back when he was a little kid, but tonight seemed different, shadows jumping out of the trees and skittering across the fields, along his field of vision. But his expression doesn’t change, and he keeps an eye out for anything weird.
“No, Junmyeon-hyung, he’s-“ Jongin chokes, and Yifan briefly wonders if he’s choking back tears. But he doesn’t dig it up further, knowing fairly well that this isn’t the right time and place to talk about something that probably needs him to be by the younger guy’s side. “I’ll explain later,” Jongin’s voice cracks, giving away the impression that there is indeed something wrong and Yifan could hear the rising fear in his voice. “But where exactly are you, hyung?”
Yifan clears his throat, attempting to shake away all the thoughts going through his head and trying to sound like the brave, responsible hyung that he is and not like the scared, little kid hiding behind his mom’s back that he feels he’s turning into right now. “I’m about twenty minutes away from the school.”
“Wait, isn’t that the area with lots of trees? The ones that lead to the forest?” Yifan nods, but then says yes, remembering that he’s on the phone. He could hear Jongin’s heavy and uneven breathing. Maybe he’s running? Yifan hopes he at least takes the bus or a taxi, because he doesn’t want Jongin running all the way to meet him, especially at the risk of his health (or life. Yifan settles for the first option because the prospect of death still gives him nightmares as the deaths of their other friends are still unjustified).
“Ok hyung, I’ll be there any moment now. Hang on,” Don’t die on me, please. “Promise me you won’t leave, okay? I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“I promise, kid. I promise.” Yifan barely whispers the words, but Jongin hears them anyway. Yet he knows that he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise the moment a figure steps out of the trees. He lets Jongin believe in his words anyway, not wanting the kid to lose hope despite the setbacks.
He must survive.
Jongin manages to hail a cab and drags Kyungsoo in with him, not thinking of how much he’ll pay at this moment. He glances worriedly at the taxi’s running meter, thinking of how much time they’re losing as the meter’s numbers constantly change.
Kyungsoo watches the green numbers flashing in the reflections they cast in Jongin’s eyes with his own wide ones, and he purses his lips, thinking how hard it must be on Jongin to be so young yet so corrupted by life, or rather, the loss of it.
Jongin almost jumps out of the car when they spot a car pulled over the side of the road, and he hastily shoves the crumpled money in the cab driver’s waiting hand, not bothering to take the change the driver offers him. He feels his heart sink to his stomach, seeing the door on the driver’s side of the car open, shards of the broken window scattered all over the concrete road. Kyungsoo puts a comforting hand in Jongin’s shoulder, but he knows that it won’t be enough to take the feeling of loss and being lost in the middle of a game he has no idea how to play.
“Look,” Kyungsoo points out a trail of blood leading to the forest, and Jongin’s stomach churns, because maybe there is still hope. Maybe Yifan could still keep his promise. Maybe they’re not yet too late.
They are wrong, however, for the first thing they spot a few feet deeper into the forest is a head full of red hair, except that it’s not really red, but blond matted with trails of blood and the gore of a grisly crime. A pressed-up suit crumpled and dirty from the struggle is on the person’s body, and Jongin knows that Yifan would’ve looked handsome-dashing, even-in that outfit, if it weren’t for the fact that he would probably be wearing it to his funeral and not to a club recital.
“Stay here. If I don’t come back…” Kyunsoo hesitates, biting his lower lip. “Run. Don’t come after me. Whatever happens… Don’t.” he instructs Jongin before dashing after a shadow hidden by trees and darkness.
But Jongin has a really bad habit of not paying attention and not listening to what he’s told to do, so he runs after Kyungsoo a few heartbeats later and finds the smaller man on top of a body lying on the ground, face almost unrecognizable from all the blood and bruises. He squints in the dark, making out the face of Zhang Yixing. He doesn’t expect for things to turn this way.
“H-Hyung?” His voice comes out more like a squeak than a growl, and he hates himself for sounding like a coward when he’s supposed to be standing up to someone.
You know all too well what happens next.
Kyungsoo’s mind is awakened through a scream and an accusatory look, and a jab of a finger in his direction is what greets him. Hearing the word “murderer” escape the lips of the person he has liked for quite some time now also isn’t part of what he imagined as the onslaught of romantic and blush-inducing things that the guy was supposed to say.
He scurries away from Yixing’s unmoving body, eyes glassy and staring. But he doesn’t feel any remorse toward what he has done. No, he never will. Because he believes that it is the right thing to do.
“No, I’m not,” Kyungsoo answers, voice trembling with faked calm. “You’re getting the wrong idea here.” The tanned boy in front of Kyungsoo shakes his head, mind still unable to process the information right in front of him, blonde hair silvery white under the moonlight. Kyungsoo would’ve thought that a midnight rendezvous would have been fine too, except that a circumstance like this wasn’t what he was expecting.
Kyungsoo holds up both of his bloodied hands in surrender.
“Why would I believe you? I’ve known him for eight fucking years! He’s my best friend!” Jongin looks as if he’s on the verge of breaking down, and Kyungsoo could see it on his face as if he’s looking at a mirror being slammed on the floor, bits and pieces scattering all over. “And you killed him!”
Someone nearby laughs a high-pitched, maniacal laugh that’s enough to make Jongin fumble for his thoughts and send shivers down his spine.
But it’s not Kyungsoo, for he is still pre-occupied with a look of pure horror as Yixing pushes his body off the ground with a single hand, wiping the fresh blood dribbling on his chin with the other. “You really think so?” His frail-looking body is wracked once more with a tremor of amusement as he laughs that unfamiliar laugh of his.
This is not the Zhang Yixing that Jongin has known for quite some time. This is not the Zhang Yixing that he told his secrets to or the elder friend that he has always believed he could rely on.
The laugh sounds harsh, foreign to his ears. Yet it reverberates in his skull like a warning painted in stark red, capital letters. Yixing finally manages to stand up, face still crusted with the same blood on Kyungsoo’s hands. “Poor kid. And you really believed in everything I said, didn’t you? I am touched.” There was darkness in his eyes that Jongin doesn’t remember seeing before. “But you fell for all of my tricks. How pathetic.”
Something silver gleams wickedly under the moonlight, and Jongin staggers backward, clawing at the air before him in an attempt to reach out, to latch onto someone to prevent his fall. “Woops, I guess you don’t know me that well.” Yixing’s smile is cold, expression devoid of any trace of the eight years of friendship that blossomed between the two of them. It was all an act, after all.
He tactlessly takes out the knife from Jongin’s chest and shakes his head, for he had missed his target by a few centimeters. Kyungsoo runs to Jongin’s side, taking out his white handkerchief and attempting to staunch the blood by tying it around Jongin’s chest. But red only stains white and blood keeps seeping in, as Jongin struggles to take in a lungful of air.
“Why are you doing this?” Yixing observes his cuticles caked with dirt and clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in impatience. “That’s such a common question to ask, don’t you think? Along with other clichéd questions like, ‘Who are you’, ‘What are you doing here’. I mean, where’s the fun in answering questions like that? But since you’re my favorite, I’m going to answer that just this time.” He lunges forward, and in one quick motion, the black-hilted knife finds itself embedded on Kyungsoo’s stomach. Yixing almost laughs because since Jongin and Kyungsoo like each other and the knife used to strike them down was the same, wouldn’t that be equivalent to becoming one?
But there was no struggle, no thrill in getting a fight out of him, and Yixing is disappointed, yet he masks his dissatisfaction with a smile.
“Does a murder need a motive? Isn’t the killing enough of a motivational force already? You don’t understand how this works, do you?” Kyungsoo’s eyes close momentarily, remembering his father. “I want to paint the world in different shades of crimson.” He and Yixing were different kinds of people.
“And now what? Did you enjoy?” Kyungsoo says bitterly, attempting to keep himself awake. Jongin’s breathing is starting to slow, and he focuses on the rising and falling of the younger’s chest to keep himself from slipping into unconsciousness.
“Ah yes, the time I killed them. I had fun, of course. Could’ve had some more of it, if it weren’t for that runt of a baozi.” Yixing scoffs, disdain evident in his voice.
Kyungsoo struggles to breathe. He grabs Jongin’s hand, cold and yielding under his touch. For comfort. For an assurance that it will be alright. But Jongin doesn’t squeeze his hand back. “What does Minseok-hyung have to do with this? Don’t tell me he-“
“Oh, you’re pretty sharp. You really are an honor student. I was just going to scare him, but he ended up killing three others. Getting the glory of the kills when it was supposed to be all mine. Psh, that really cut out the quota for my killing spree. I didn’t know his pretty little mind was that fragile. Oh well, there’s no more use in crying over spilled milk.” He moves a little closer to Kyungsoo’s head, and it bothers Kyungsoo how he’s never noticed the silence in Yixing’s graceful steps, as if they’ve been choreographed and practiced to perfection. “I’ve got my prey right before me, after all.”
Yixing toes the side of Kyungsoo’s face, turning it to face the opposite direction. “You were beautiful. You all were. Too bad everything had to end this way. At least you got to die with your pretty little lover boy over here. Kouhai has finally noticed his senpai. How ironic.”
Yixing recalls the murders, the faces of those he had killed one by one: Chanyeol’s serene sleeping face, Baekhyun’s tear-streaked one, Jongdae’s valiant attempts at hiding his fear, Minseok’s crazed, erratic eyes that contrast Junmyeon’s ungrudging ones. And the look on Yifan’s face, saying he’s known it all along. He dismisses it. More souls are needed to be purged.
But Kyungsoo’s face swims in his vision, back when he first took interest in forming the plan that night he crept up on Kyungsoo burying a dead dog deep in the forest. Jongin’s laugh disturbs his thoughts, and a voice calls out to him. Hyung, hyung, hyung. Wanna eat chicken with me?
He flicks his wrist and a knife pops out of his sleeve, like a magic show on air, a magician about to start throwing daggers for the thrill of the show. “I’d rather kill them all before they kill me. We’re all going to hell anyway, might as well make it worthwhile.” He whispers, and it rings with such finality that Kyungsoo grips Jongin’s hand tighter and closes his eyes, waiting for the end.
But the end doesn’t come, only the sound of a siren and doors being slammed close. Yixing’s eyes widen, for loud chatter and sounds of dead leaves crunching under heavy feet as oncoming footsteps could be heard approaching. He stabs his own arm with the knife he was supposed to use to end Kyungsoo’s life and hurriedly lies face down.
“What the-“ A ray of white light shines over three bodies lying on the ground, and one struggles to stand up, face and arm bloodied. “Help, help us! Kyungsoo he-he killed my friend!”
The officer hurries over and helps the poor guy out, barking orders to his companion about calling for backup and for medical team to come over. “Are you alright kid? When we received a signal from some kid named Yifan, we weren’t expecting things to be like this!”
So it was Yifan. Even if he’s dead, he still had the guts to help those little pieces of shit out. What a hero. Yixing hides his irritation by looking all scared for his life and innocent, and he grips the plump officer’s sleeve tighter. “Please, save Jongin! You need to help him. He’s the only friend I’ve got left.” Yixing sheds crocodile tears, and the officer is moved that he promises Yixing that he’ll do everything he can to save Jongin, even if he doesn’t know who the hell between those two other bodies he’s referring to.
Yixing slips away from consciousness, feeling all the energy from his body drain away as the blood left in his body continues to lessen. His eyes crack open for a fraction of a second, and he is only able to make out concerned faces and a door being slammed shut. He opens his eyes and sees lights too bright for his eyes and white-washed walls, feeling his head reeling over. He is barely aware that he is lying down and is being wheeled off to the emergency room, but he thinks, “Well this is an awful way to die,” even though he knows far too much to even have thoughts that he’s going to die from a stab in the arm.
The first thing he says, a day after he is admitted though, isn’t anything like he wants to. “How are they?” He asks out of the blue, and the female nurse arranging the plates on the tray of food he is served almost jumps in shock at the sudden interruption of silence. She wasn’t expecting him to wake up at least for an hour yet since he looked to be so broken and beyond fixing that moment she saw him being wheeled in through the doors of the hospital, yet he seems to prove her wrong.
She seems to look uneasy, and she fidgets a bit before answering him. “I don’t think I’m in the right position to be the one answering that question, sir. I think it’s best if you find it out for yourself.” Yixing nods, mentally congratulating himself because that’s basically nurse code for “They’re dead.” And true to his assumptions, he hears news of the Kim family cremating Jongin and his friend’s body the day before he is discharged from the hospital.
He smiles to himself.
The victor remains undefeated.
☠☠☠
Here’s the plot twist: it’s not yet the end.
Because the end of this story begins one night that is quite different from all other nights, albeit the seemingly tranquil atmosphere that envelopes the whole of Seoul.
The light reflects from the edge of a sharp knife, giving it a metallic gleam. Yixing twirls the knife precariously with practiced hands. The doorbell rings and he smiles, all forms of kindness that used to be there barred off from his features. “I guess pizza’s here,” he stands up from the couch he is sitting on and walks over a body lying spread-eagled by his feet, wide, glassy eyes staring back at him, red shirt soaked with a darker shade of liquid red from his wounds.
He opens the door with a single fluid motion that is as well-calculated as a predator’s move right before it pounces on its prey. His mind is calculating the aftermath of his workings and the possible scenarios, yet he is taken aback at the sudden pressure on his forehead before he realizes that his body is being thrown aback with such a force that makes him fall on his back as if he is a puppet whose strings are being pulled by its puppeteer. His ears ring from a sound he doesn’t even remember hearing.
“Missed me?” A honeyed voice speaks up, and Yixing mentally curses at himself for not making his plan fool-proof enough. The strings on his body evaporate into the air, and he couldn’t move one bit. Not even the master puppeteer could help him now. “Oh, and here’s your special delivery,” an empty square-shaped box lands beside him, and he couldn’t help but feel pathetic for being beaten at his own game by someone as gullible as the wide-eyed dork.
“Hyung, come on!” Yixing doesn’t need to look up or even think who the other person calling his murderer was. He hears the shuffling of feet and the sound of rubber shoes hitting against the tiled cement floor as the two depart. He almost laughs at himself for not being able to correctly predict the outcome.
An eerie rhapsody chimes repeatedly in the background, and the lights dance in Yixing’s eyes as languidly as his body usually does during a performance.
He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of the world pulling at his eyelids. Everything goes black as the performance comes to an end. He doesn’t hear a single applause, nor gets a “Job well done,” or even a pat on the back for something he thinks that is well-orchestrated enough, because he knows that even at this point, no one knows what the truth is. They could make speculations and pinpoint the suspects, but they would never find out the real story. And that story would be buried with him forever.
The performance comes to an end, but he doesn’t wake up.
The games have been overturned.
☠☠☠
a/n: fill for this prompt. title taken from a line in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”
a/n2: when I said that it was going to take me more than a week to finish this fic, I didn’t mean for it to get done I n a month. I am very sorry OTL
pairing: Kai/D.O., Xiumin/Luhan, Tao/Sehun
word count: 13,317 words
rating: R
summary: The best camping trips are worth dying for. Literally.
warnings: (highlight to see) multiple character deaths, cliche (because i suck)
part 1
“I told you splitting up wasn’t a good idea. Haven’t you watched horror movies? Everybody starts dying right after they split up! Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Zitao whines, swatting away the insects that zoom towards him as he is following Luhan’s trek deeper into the forest. “This is so unfair, nobody ever listens to me. Is it because I’m in the maknae line?”
“Shut up Zitao, who the hell do you think would listen to someone wearing a jacket with leopard prints along with a neon blue skinny jeans for a trip to the forest, anyway?” Luhan snaps, but he keeps moving at a steady pace, grumbling that in Zitao’s past life, he was probably a soldier who goes off to war wearing glittering silver stilettos.
Zitao complains some more at this, and Luhan launches into his carefully memorized accounts of Zitao wearing the most inappropriate clothes at the most inappropriate moments, like that one time Zitao insisted on wearing Airport Fashion for a futuristic-themed Christmas Party, or that one Halloween when he chose to wear his usual clothes with an additional array of obnoxious accessories, saying that he’s come to the party dressed as himself because he’s one hell of a celebrity (“But if you’re a celebrity, then why haven’t we seen you on t.v.? Not even in the local channels?” Junmyeon inadvertently asks, to which Zitao rolls his eyes and replies with a “Omg hyung, you don’t just ask someone why they’re a celebrity!” proud that he was able to use a Mean Girls quote as a reference for the first time in the ten years since the movie was launched. Junmyeon only gives him a quizzical look, having no idea what Zitao’s point was. “Pff, old, unfashionable people,” he mutters). Luhan could keep at it at any time of the day until he has recounted all of Zitao’s bullshit, but the venomous glare the younger man throws at him melts through, and he ends up laughing at Zitao as the latter gave up.
“Where the hell are they, anyway?” Zitao gripes with a pout. It’s the first time he’s been separated from Sehun since their little trip started that he seems to have forgotten what it feels like without the other guy’s presence. He is still thankful though that he is with Luhan, because he could use the older one’s company now, even if they don’t really get along that much.
A blood-curdling scream breaks through the forest, sending away the migrating birds that had just finished settling in on their new nests. Luhan looks at Zitao with fear in his eyes. “I’m afraid we’re about to know now.”
☠☠☠
Minseok’s last memory of his best friend isn’t actually a nice one, and his heart constricts whenever he remembers Jongdae’s retreating back, guilt gnawing at the sides of his mind whenever he recalls his buddy’s hurt expression and bitter smile. Every step of the way feels heavier than the last, and Minseok couldn’t help but think that his feet are turning into lead.
He plans on apologizing the first time he lays eyes on his best friend, but he isn’t able to do that, for when he spots Jongdae sitting with his back propped against the wall of an abandoned house at the top of a hill a little ways from the forest, the name he has been calling out for hours is stuck on his throat. Jongdae’s head is bent down, still and unresponsive. Curious, Minseok continues his steps. His eyes go wide as he takes in the whole scene with his own eyes.
Jongdae might as well have been sleeping, but the gaping hole in his stomach and the lacerations on his limbs tells Minseok of another story, one that he has only seen in thriller/horror-themed movies. His heart lurches in his chest and is grabbed down to his stomach as he comes to terms with the fact that it has been hours since Jongdae’s life has already seeped out of him.
On the wall behind Jongdae, written in alarmingly red stains were the words, “You’re next.”
Minseok’s blood rush to his ears, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, following the outline of his features as they drip down his face, and he blinks back tears and swallows his fear. His heart hammers wildly against his ribs as he struggles to breathe. He tries to pry his eyes away from such gruesome sight, but terror already has a chokehold on him, and he falls on his knees, hands shaking with such ferocity and lips trembling. He is too preoccupied by the sudden rush of emotions in his system that he doesn’t notice the other things written on the wall, things like the stiffly straight number one succeeding a scraggly-looking number zero which is nearer Jongdae’s body than the threat, written over his head in bright read letters that look suspiciously a lot like blood.
Sehun runs to his hyung’s side immediately, not stopping to catch his breath when he finally catches up. He holds Minseok’s shoulders in a firm yet comforting grip as the smaller man’s body is violently wracked with broken sobs. Minseok’s howls of anguish are ringing loud in his ears that he doesn’t hear something snapping inside his oldest hyung.
“Sehun,” he gulps, and Sehun isn’t sure if he should pity his hyung or fear him. “He’s going to kill me. He says I’m next.” Minseok hears a chain swinging methodically in the distance, chiming an eerie melody. His cling on the younger boy’s clothes tightens.
“No hyung, no one’s after you,” Sehun rubs soothing circles against Minseok’s back, attempting to calm the older one down. “Calm down hyung. How about we go find the others and-“
“You’re with him, aren’t you?” Minseok cuts him off, sending him into a state of confused panic.
“What are you talking about, hyung? Why-“
“You are!” Minseok stands up abruptly and moves to run away, but Sehun catches his wrist in a steady grip. “Look hyung, whatever it is about, I know you’re scared, but I am too. We all are.”
But Minseok doesn’t notice the strain behind Sehun’s gentle tone, or the pain and fear lacing it. “No, stay away from me!” he struggles.
“Hyung, listen to me, please.” Sehun pleads, tears fogging his vision. He has always looked up to Minseok for being so reliable and responsible, but he has never imagined Minseok to break this easily.
“No, go away!” Minseok pushes his dongsaeng away with all his might. The force of the action causes Sehun to stagger backward, and before he could even react, his back hits the metal frame of the open windowpane and he tips over, like a retreating hand after it has been burnt.
Minseok gasps trepidation coating his mixed-up emotions when he realizes what he has done. The word “murderer” dances around his mind, and he tries to push away the images of Jongdae laughing at him, voice high and full of transgression. He feels like his throat is barred up with an emotion that he is now so easily familiar with, but a scream escapes his mouth before he even knows what he is doing.
He can’t take it back now.
So he flees the scene and looks for Luhan, because that is the only logical thought that he is able to think now.
8 people left.
☠☠☠
“Where the hell is he?” Luhan taps his foot on the untended grass bed impatiently, eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of the presence of some lavender-haired boy. “You’re supposed to help me out, Zitao. That’s what you’re here for.”
“But I’m tired,” Zitao whines, plopping down to sit as comfortably as he can on a log. It’s not sturdy enough, definitely far from being comfortable, and it’s also not worth of having Zitao’s ass propped over it, but it’d have to do. “And if you weren’t such an ass, we wouldn’t have lost each other in the first place.” He whispers in as an afterthought.
“Then if you’re so tired and can’t stand up to help, peel this and do something useful.” Luhan throws an apple in his direction, and if Zitao wasn’t coordinated, it would’ve hit him right between the eyes. He fusses quietly over his hyung’s bitchiness and takes out the swiss knife that he always keeps in his pocket only to be used when the going gets tough. He’s hungry anyway. That counts as an emergency, right? His stomach grumbles in agreement.
Luhan’s eyes wander but he remains in his spot with his back to the Zitao, afraid that the younger male will start crying and attract too much attention if he as much as takes a step forward even though the latter’s arguably taller and scary-looking. He hears the faint sound of a whimper, and something might have hit the ground because he hears a loud thud.
“Zitao, what-“he feels a cold hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving.
“Ssh, don’t move,” a familiar voice whispers in his ear, and he shivers because the voice that he is so used to hearing whispering sweet nothings sounds alarmingly foreign. “It’s ok, you’re safe now.”
Luhan is struck with apprehension, all the alarm bells going off in his head. “Minseok, what did you?” he tries to keep his tone neutral, gentle even, but his voice catches in his throat. Minseok doesn’t seem to notice this though.
“I was just protecting you! He was going to kill us all!” Minseok’s eyes are darting around, hair in disarray and hands streaked with Zitao’s blood. A sharp stone is in his right hand, and if you don’t look close enough, you would probably think that the stone has a natural shade of ruby red.
“Minseok…” Luhan’s voice is soothing, but it isn’t enough to take all the fear away from Minseok’s mind.
“No, don’t look back. Luhan, please, don’t,” Minseok pleads. “If you really love me, please, don’t look back.” Luhan feels his mouth has gone dry, feeling betrayed that Minseok is pulling that card right now. There is no question for how much he loves the other man that he’d be willing to trade places with the guy right now, even go to hell and back just for Minseok.
But Luhan’s conscience is struggling against his feelings, and he couldn’t help but see in fleeting an image of Zitao’s smiling face, laughing at something stupid he had said.
And so, he turns around, and ends up with his back to the forest floor, blood trickling down his lips and falling down his chin, a peaceful look in his face. Minseok’s hands fall slack against his sides and he drops the stone now thickly colored in a shade of burgundy. He grabs his hair as anxiety overpowers him and he staggers backwards, feeling the guilt gnawing on every part of his being. “Why’d you have to turn back? I told you not to!” he cries, and he is unable to keep standing upright, feeling his heart break into pieces just as shards of glass would when they fall broken beyond repair.
Minseok kisses Luhan’s head and cradles his lover’s dying body in his arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go this way. I’m going to fix this; I’m going to end this right now.”
He goes for the swiss knife still in Zitao’s lifeless hands, planning to take away his own life as he finds that it has no purpose anymore, but he is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Minseok turns in alarm, only to be met by the barrel of a gun shoved into his mouth. “What were you thinking, hording all of my kills? That’s very impolite of you, hyung,” A figure he has never expected to see at the moment looks at him with pity, eyes gentle and features mellow, and it would have looked as if the person was going to console Minseok, if it wasn’t for the gun in his hands. “What would Luhan say about that? Oh wait; he can’t say anything because you killed him already.” He sneers, and buries the barrel deeper into Minseok’s mouth.
The person’s features soften once more, feigning sympathy. “Now, why would you kill yourself? The game’s just starting to get interesting, isn’t it?” tears flood Minseok’s vision, and all he thinks before the figure pulls the trigger is that if an afterlife really does exist, he hopes to see Luhan there. And that hopefully, during that lifetime, things wouldn’t have to end this way.
“Tsk, so regretful,” the guy wipes the gun’s barrel on Minseok’s shirt with adept hands. “If I wasn’t able to get here in time, then you wouldn’t you be unlucky enough to not have died by my hands? We couldn’t have that, couldn’t we?” Minseok doesn’t answer. How could he though, when he’s already dead? His killer answers for him, anyway. “Of course, because if you kill yourself, then where’s the fun in that?”
He straightens his back and walks back to the passage where he slipped into. “Oh, so we’re down to five people?” he recounts the deaths again with his fingers and smiles to himself. “Five people already? Wow, I wasn’t expecting things to go this easily. Time really does go by fast when you’re enjoying.”
The sun is painted red with the crimson shade of the blood of four people who have died that day.
5 people left.
☠☠☠
“Don’t you think he’s too weird?” Yifan whispers quietly to Jongin. He originally started looking through the forest to help find Jongdae with Kyungsoo, Jongin, Junmyeon, and Yixing alongside him, but they got split up along the way. He finds himself re-acquainted with Jongin and Kyungsoo minutes later, but he flinches and thinks twice about striking up a greeting when he sees Kyungsoo bent down and concentrating on stabbing a stick on the ground.
“Nah, it’s okay,” Jongin shakes his head. (He’s cute! And he seems really nice. If he isn’t staring at you as if he’s scrutinizing every pore on your skin and every fiber of your being, that is. But maybe it’s because he has astigmatism? That’s what he told me, anyway) “He’s a really nice guy. And no, he didn’t try to stab me with that stick,” Jongin reassures Yifan even before the older guy could ask. “He told me he was trying to look for water because he got thirsty. And if you could find a source of water, then wouldn’t you be able to track down where the river is, too?”
Yifan nods. He hasn’t thought of it that way. “Chanyeol told me before that he and Baekhyun tried to engage Kyungsoo in a conversation once, but... well, to put it simply, it didn’t go very well,” he smiles, remembering the sight of Kyungsoo’s infamous jujitsu move being used on Chanyeol because the oaf made the mistake of calling him a hundred and sixty-eight centimeters of squishiness and Baekhyun stepping in to stop the commotion. The memory of Kyungsoo shrieking “I am not a hundred and sixty eight centimeters, I am well over a hundred and seventy!” as he chases Chanyeol around with Baekhyun in tow embeds itself in Yifan’s memory, and he almost laughs, if it wasn’t for his recollection of Chanyeol’s pale skin, his blue veins popping out, giving him a sickly pallor and Baekhyun’s blood-shot eyes and the red line running along his neck like an over worn necklace.
Jongin pats him in the back, eyes clearly portraying how much he misses his hyungs. “Yeah, they also told me that they saw Kyungsoo laughing in front of the mirror, looking like a maniac,” there’s that distant look in Jongin’s eyes, and Yifan would have thought he imagined it, if it weren’t for the fact that he saw the emotion flit by Jongin’s eyes himself.
“Guys!” Junmyeon breaks the moment by barging in through the bushes, eyes wild and searching as he pants as if he was hanging on for dear life. Yixing follows closely by, eyes puffy and rimmed with tears. “Something… Something just happened.”
Kyungsoo stands up and dusts off the dirt from his hands on his pants. “Spill it,” where his simple words. Junmyeon looks at Yixing for back up, and the latter grips at his shoulder for support, nodding in encouragement. “We found Jongdae’s…body,” he swallows thickly. “Along with Sehun, Zitao, Luhan and Minseok.”
“Wait, what?” Jongin looks confused. “What-what happened?”
Yixing speaks up this time, and he grimaces at the bad news hanging off his tongue. “We believe that they’ve been murdered.”
☠☠☠
“That forest is haunted, what the hell were you kids thinking, going there for a camping trip? Is this some sort of game to you?” an old lady scolds them. The five of them came down to the village to report the murders and ask around for help of identifying who the murderer is, but they didn’t expect someone to cause some hullaballoo over the whole thing.
“Really? Hm… none of my father’s agents told me that when I asked for suggestions for a good place to camp in…” Junmyeon rubs at his chin thoughtfully, trying to make some sense out of the whole situation. Too bad the whole situation doesn’t make any sense at all. Yifan nudges Junmyeon’s ribs with that ridiculously sharp elbow of his, and Junmyeon would’ve punched the daylights out of the tall guy if it weren’t for the fact that Yifan was mouthing for him to be careful of the things he’s saying because the witch might jinx them (and Junmyeon couldn’t throw a decent punch anyway, so it’s a win-win situation).
“No one can help you once you’re under the ghost’s radar!” she shrieks
“Tch. Such a distasteful brat.” The woman shakes her head, her dirty, messy hair that looks as if it hasn’t been washed for weeks moving along with her head. “How about you, kid, do you believe in ghosts?”she turns her full attention to Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon is relieved that the woman’s withering stare isn’t on him, albeit he’s still worried that Kyungsoo might get diarrhea from the woman’s glance alone, even though the idea sounds preposterous.
“No,” and he manages to hastily add a “but I do believe in curses,” before the woman could give him the evil eye.
The woman nods. “Very well. But that is just apt, because the curse is everywhere!” she makes a grand gesture with her hands. “His scent is all over you,” she points to Yixing, and he innocently points to himself. “Me? Why me?” he asks Yifan, who is the nearest person. “Why me? What does that mean?” he cluelessly asks Kyungsoo, who is standing on his left side. The old lady continues to point each of them out, and Kyungsoo simply shrugs, as if to say, “Beats me.”
She her finger stops in front of Junmyeon’s face and her strong gaze pierces through his skull. “I’m afraid you’re next, dearie.” She gently pats his cheek with a wrinkled hand, as if she just told him to stop eating too many cookies because it’ll be bad for his health.
He flinches as if he’s burned by her touch, but he smiles in compensation. He gingerly removes her hold on his face. “Very well then, I will simply let the gods be the panel who I stand before as they judge my fate,” he nods to his companions, and they silently thank him because their distaste for the woman’s presence is clear in their faces. “Thank you, madam. We shall take our leave now. Thank you very much for your help.” He bows politely, and the other four manage a stiff and abrupt nod as they hastily take their parting.
Junmyeon shakes his head, utterly unconvinced of any hillbillies that couldn’t be explained by concretes facts and evidences. Junmyeon will always be the leader-type, no nonsense guy, after all. (Too bad everything is all comprised of nonsense words and incomprehensible actions)
But perhaps they should’ve believed what the crazy old woman said, because from what the police tells them two weeks later, right when they think that everything is finally okay and that things are eventually going back to normal, there was no sufficient evidence for murder. No trace of the murderer could be found, if there really was one. The old woman would’ve laughed off right in their faces, starting off with “I told you so”, elaborately telling them that it’s because the murderer himself ceases to exist, and ending with a “Now you’ll be cursed forever”.
“You believe in curses?” Jongin half-jogs to match his steps with Kyungsoo’s. Kyungsoo notices this, so he slows down his usually fast strides. Even for his short legs, he really walks fast. Maybe because he’s so used to running away from people who like throwing things at him and calling him murderer because of his father’s reputation.
Kyungsoo shrugs. “Well, why not? I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
Jongin nods, trying to match the look on Kyungsoo’s face with something floating in his memory. He couldn’t quite remember it, but he’s sure he’d seen that expression before. “Good point. But… well… y’know. They seem illogical?”
“Yes, I know but… I believe in the power that could transform hatred into something much more sinister.”
“Well, if you hate a person, then wouldn’t killing them off be the best idea instead? Curses aren’t really reliable, and they could even backfire on you, right?”
Kyungsoo seems to ponder well about Jongin’s question. Seconds later, he chooses the words for his answer carefully. “Well if a person simply hates you, he just could’ve killed you. That way he could’ve gotten rid of you easily, right? But a curse? Ah, well that’s a different story,” he nods, mostly to encourage himself to continue talking because how can he think straight, when Jongin’s bare arm is brushing up against his sleeve? He curses not being frank enough to tell Jongin to wear something that isn’t distracting or flashy. But maybe Jongin did really get out of his way to wear something distracting so he could sit back and watch the fleeting emotions pass by Kyungsoo’s eyes, the only permanent thing being the splash of color on his cheeks. “A curse takes time, patience, and utter devotion. So if someone curses you, I highly doubt he simply hates your guts. Or your face. Or you as a whole, generally speaking.”
Jongin bumps against his shoulder, and he half-wonders if the younger lad was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he was just touchy-feely today. Or maybe he’s just really actually clumsy. (But if Jongin really was clumsy, Kyungsoo would never have noticed that because all he could remember is the gracefulness of Jongin’s movements and the lithe movement of his muscles everytime Kyungsoo not-so-secretly watches him perform for intermission numbers back in school). “Well, if you’re given the chance, would you put a curse on me?”
Kyungsoo is surprised at the sudden question that he almost trips on his own two feet, but Jongin is quick to act and catcheshim by the hand. “W-why are you suddenly asking me that?”
Jongin shrugs. “I don’t know, I just want to know.”
“Well uhm… No. I wouldn’t.” because I’d rather kill everyone in this world just to let you live. Oh wait that sounds cheesy. Kyungsoo almost slaps himself for thinking anything like that. Fuck you Kim Jongin, for making me have feelings.(But he just might kill someone from all the fuzzy feelings in his stomach when Jongin beams down at him with a smile that could blind even the sun.
“C’mon hyung, walk faster. Your legs are too short.” Jongin jokes, tugging at his sleeve, and Kyungsoo is sure that he is supposed to choke anyone who makes any height-related jokes at him, but the command his brain sends to his arms fails to execute because Kim fucking Jongin is grabbing his hand and making a run for it.
“Oi, lovebirds, cut that out! Go get a room first before you go suck face!” Yifan shouts from a distance, and Kyungsoo could see Junmyeon’s sneaky smile and Yixing’s approving thumbs up sign. And without knowing much why, Kyungsoo smiles back at them as he runs along to the beat of Jongin’s feet tapping against the pavement.
Everything falls back and fades into the background, and worry tugs at the back of Kyungsoo’s mind, telling him to stop being all giggly because either a killer is still on the loose or a vengeful ghost is chasing after them, but he ignores it, telling it to shut up and let him be selfish for once.
The scenery is picture-perfect, and it would be the perfect ending to a really sad story, except it isn’t yet. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind, because he believes that despite all the setbacks, something good just might happen.
There are still so many things to fuss about when they get back to the city, but right now, he basks in the instance of Jongin holding his hand and carves it deep into his memory, promising that he will take it to his grave.
Kyungsoo feels kind of bad for thinking about being happy at a time like this, but at that moment, there was nothing else that seemed to matter but Jongin and their linked hands.
☠☠☠
Now that Junmyeon thinks about it, Kyungsoo does seem capable of manning a pet shop. The only thing that bothers him is the fact that he used to think that Kyungsoo was the type of guy who would skin his pet dog for a new hat because of his reputation. But throughout the few days he’s been with the boy, he couldn’t help but think otherwise. Maybe the boy with the big eyes and the heart-shaped smile isn’t the type of person to knock at your door and then pour gasoline all over you, after all.
“How did you guys find out that I worked here, though?” Kyungsoo asks, pouring the contents of a bag of dog food into three metal bowls. He leaves the bowls in a cage filled with dogs that Junmyeon recognized as Shitzus when he finishes filling the containers up.
“Ah, well you know, Jongin was sta-I mean Jongin here just happened to pass by this place yesterday and told me that we should go visit you,” Junmyeon says between clenched teeth and a forced smile, hastily correcting himself when Jongin elbows him hard in the ribs. It’ll probably bruise, and he swears he’ll have to find himself a new set of friends once he moves into his new apartment.
“Really? Then would you guys want to buy pets too?” Kyungsoo’s question is full of wonder and the shy smile he gives them is full of hope that even if Jongin already has three dogs back at home and Junmyeon starts saying “Probably not,” Jongin risks stepping on his hyung’s foot just to shut him up and not mess with how he wants things to proceed. At times like this, Junmyeon really wishes that Jongin dragged Yixing here instead. He’s Jongin’s childhood friend, after all, and the one that’s closest to being his best friend. Not Junmyeon. But Yixing had a performance until late in the evening (all the more reason why Junmyeon hates the dance club because now no one can save his ass from Jongin) for a post-graduation celebration that the dance club was holding in honor of the graduating class.
(Jongin’s been friends with Yixing since the latter moved to Korea with his family around eight years ago to study, and the fact that Jongin chose to go to Kyungsoo’s work place first before setting off to watch Yixing’s recital is something, Junmyeon thinks. And even that is saying something)
“I’ll be waiting outside. Looks like you’ll need some alone time with your… friend.” Junmyeon supplies, not wanting to be bullied into shutting up by the younger one anymore. He’s out of the pet shop’s door before Jongin or Kyungsoo could even protest. The night’s cold air makes its way through the metal sliding door, making Kyungsoo shiver from the chill the wind sends through his sweater.
Jongin rubs the back of his neck, feeling a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that it’s only him and Kyungsoo occupying the room, breathing in the same air in perfect cadence. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something stupid or make a silly remark, but what he hears is a scream that isn’t his own-a scream that came from outside the building that he quickly matches with a face in mind.
Kyungsoo stops halfway into filling up another tray of food, and bolts ahead outside, the forgotten dog food spilling all over the shop’s counter with Jongin hot on his heels.
They both stop in front of a body right in front of the door, blood covering the victim’s entire face and pieces of broken pottery and soil scattered all over the cemented ground surrounding him. But they do recognize the clothes, and it’s painful enough to take in that Jongin has to look away, tears stinging his eyes. He wonders if what the old lady said about a ghost following them around and having them cursed is true.
Kyungsoo however, thinks otherwise as he stares at the daisy looking up at him in a mocking manner, it’s blood-soaked petals forming a sneer.
4 people left. The game is almost over.
☠☠☠
“Where are you right now?” Jongin asks, dropping formalities and forgetting all forms of honorifics and proper conversational etiquette. Frustration, panic and paranoia coats his voice, and even Yifan could sense that there was something off about Jongin even if he was kilometers away.
“I’m on my way to Yixing’s recital. Why? You want me to pick you up?” Yifan keeps his gaze on the road steady, left hand holding his cell phone and right hand firmly gripping the car’s steering wheel. The dark has never bothered him even back when he was a little kid, but tonight seemed different, shadows jumping out of the trees and skittering across the fields, along his field of vision. But his expression doesn’t change, and he keeps an eye out for anything weird.
“No, Junmyeon-hyung, he’s-“ Jongin chokes, and Yifan briefly wonders if he’s choking back tears. But he doesn’t dig it up further, knowing fairly well that this isn’t the right time and place to talk about something that probably needs him to be by the younger guy’s side. “I’ll explain later,” Jongin’s voice cracks, giving away the impression that there is indeed something wrong and Yifan could hear the rising fear in his voice. “But where exactly are you, hyung?”
Yifan clears his throat, attempting to shake away all the thoughts going through his head and trying to sound like the brave, responsible hyung that he is and not like the scared, little kid hiding behind his mom’s back that he feels he’s turning into right now. “I’m about twenty minutes away from the school.”
“Wait, isn’t that the area with lots of trees? The ones that lead to the forest?” Yifan nods, but then says yes, remembering that he’s on the phone. He could hear Jongin’s heavy and uneven breathing. Maybe he’s running? Yifan hopes he at least takes the bus or a taxi, because he doesn’t want Jongin running all the way to meet him, especially at the risk of his health (or life. Yifan settles for the first option because the prospect of death still gives him nightmares as the deaths of their other friends are still unjustified).
“Ok hyung, I’ll be there any moment now. Hang on,” Don’t die on me, please. “Promise me you won’t leave, okay? I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“I promise, kid. I promise.” Yifan barely whispers the words, but Jongin hears them anyway. Yet he knows that he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise the moment a figure steps out of the trees. He lets Jongin believe in his words anyway, not wanting the kid to lose hope despite the setbacks.
He must survive.
Jongin manages to hail a cab and drags Kyungsoo in with him, not thinking of how much he’ll pay at this moment. He glances worriedly at the taxi’s running meter, thinking of how much time they’re losing as the meter’s numbers constantly change.
Kyungsoo watches the green numbers flashing in the reflections they cast in Jongin’s eyes with his own wide ones, and he purses his lips, thinking how hard it must be on Jongin to be so young yet so corrupted by life, or rather, the loss of it.
Jongin almost jumps out of the car when they spot a car pulled over the side of the road, and he hastily shoves the crumpled money in the cab driver’s waiting hand, not bothering to take the change the driver offers him. He feels his heart sink to his stomach, seeing the door on the driver’s side of the car open, shards of the broken window scattered all over the concrete road. Kyungsoo puts a comforting hand in Jongin’s shoulder, but he knows that it won’t be enough to take the feeling of loss and being lost in the middle of a game he has no idea how to play.
“Look,” Kyungsoo points out a trail of blood leading to the forest, and Jongin’s stomach churns, because maybe there is still hope. Maybe Yifan could still keep his promise. Maybe they’re not yet too late.
They are wrong, however, for the first thing they spot a few feet deeper into the forest is a head full of red hair, except that it’s not really red, but blond matted with trails of blood and the gore of a grisly crime. A pressed-up suit crumpled and dirty from the struggle is on the person’s body, and Jongin knows that Yifan would’ve looked handsome-dashing, even-in that outfit, if it weren’t for the fact that he would probably be wearing it to his funeral and not to a club recital.
“Stay here. If I don’t come back…” Kyunsoo hesitates, biting his lower lip. “Run. Don’t come after me. Whatever happens… Don’t.” he instructs Jongin before dashing after a shadow hidden by trees and darkness.
But Jongin has a really bad habit of not paying attention and not listening to what he’s told to do, so he runs after Kyungsoo a few heartbeats later and finds the smaller man on top of a body lying on the ground, face almost unrecognizable from all the blood and bruises. He squints in the dark, making out the face of Zhang Yixing. He doesn’t expect for things to turn this way.
“H-Hyung?” His voice comes out more like a squeak than a growl, and he hates himself for sounding like a coward when he’s supposed to be standing up to someone.
You know all too well what happens next.
Kyungsoo’s mind is awakened through a scream and an accusatory look, and a jab of a finger in his direction is what greets him. Hearing the word “murderer” escape the lips of the person he has liked for quite some time now also isn’t part of what he imagined as the onslaught of romantic and blush-inducing things that the guy was supposed to say.
He scurries away from Yixing’s unmoving body, eyes glassy and staring. But he doesn’t feel any remorse toward what he has done. No, he never will. Because he believes that it is the right thing to do.
“No, I’m not,” Kyungsoo answers, voice trembling with faked calm. “You’re getting the wrong idea here.” The tanned boy in front of Kyungsoo shakes his head, mind still unable to process the information right in front of him, blonde hair silvery white under the moonlight. Kyungsoo would’ve thought that a midnight rendezvous would have been fine too, except that a circumstance like this wasn’t what he was expecting.
Kyungsoo holds up both of his bloodied hands in surrender.
“Why would I believe you? I’ve known him for eight fucking years! He’s my best friend!” Jongin looks as if he’s on the verge of breaking down, and Kyungsoo could see it on his face as if he’s looking at a mirror being slammed on the floor, bits and pieces scattering all over. “And you killed him!”
Someone nearby laughs a high-pitched, maniacal laugh that’s enough to make Jongin fumble for his thoughts and send shivers down his spine.
But it’s not Kyungsoo, for he is still pre-occupied with a look of pure horror as Yixing pushes his body off the ground with a single hand, wiping the fresh blood dribbling on his chin with the other. “You really think so?” His frail-looking body is wracked once more with a tremor of amusement as he laughs that unfamiliar laugh of his.
This is not the Zhang Yixing that Jongin has known for quite some time. This is not the Zhang Yixing that he told his secrets to or the elder friend that he has always believed he could rely on.
The laugh sounds harsh, foreign to his ears. Yet it reverberates in his skull like a warning painted in stark red, capital letters. Yixing finally manages to stand up, face still crusted with the same blood on Kyungsoo’s hands. “Poor kid. And you really believed in everything I said, didn’t you? I am touched.” There was darkness in his eyes that Jongin doesn’t remember seeing before. “But you fell for all of my tricks. How pathetic.”
Something silver gleams wickedly under the moonlight, and Jongin staggers backward, clawing at the air before him in an attempt to reach out, to latch onto someone to prevent his fall. “Woops, I guess you don’t know me that well.” Yixing’s smile is cold, expression devoid of any trace of the eight years of friendship that blossomed between the two of them. It was all an act, after all.
He tactlessly takes out the knife from Jongin’s chest and shakes his head, for he had missed his target by a few centimeters. Kyungsoo runs to Jongin’s side, taking out his white handkerchief and attempting to staunch the blood by tying it around Jongin’s chest. But red only stains white and blood keeps seeping in, as Jongin struggles to take in a lungful of air.
“Why are you doing this?” Yixing observes his cuticles caked with dirt and clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in impatience. “That’s such a common question to ask, don’t you think? Along with other clichéd questions like, ‘Who are you’, ‘What are you doing here’. I mean, where’s the fun in answering questions like that? But since you’re my favorite, I’m going to answer that just this time.” He lunges forward, and in one quick motion, the black-hilted knife finds itself embedded on Kyungsoo’s stomach. Yixing almost laughs because since Jongin and Kyungsoo like each other and the knife used to strike them down was the same, wouldn’t that be equivalent to becoming one?
But there was no struggle, no thrill in getting a fight out of him, and Yixing is disappointed, yet he masks his dissatisfaction with a smile.
“Does a murder need a motive? Isn’t the killing enough of a motivational force already? You don’t understand how this works, do you?” Kyungsoo’s eyes close momentarily, remembering his father. “I want to paint the world in different shades of crimson.” He and Yixing were different kinds of people.
“And now what? Did you enjoy?” Kyungsoo says bitterly, attempting to keep himself awake. Jongin’s breathing is starting to slow, and he focuses on the rising and falling of the younger’s chest to keep himself from slipping into unconsciousness.
“Ah yes, the time I killed them. I had fun, of course. Could’ve had some more of it, if it weren’t for that runt of a baozi.” Yixing scoffs, disdain evident in his voice.
Kyungsoo struggles to breathe. He grabs Jongin’s hand, cold and yielding under his touch. For comfort. For an assurance that it will be alright. But Jongin doesn’t squeeze his hand back. “What does Minseok-hyung have to do with this? Don’t tell me he-“
“Oh, you’re pretty sharp. You really are an honor student. I was just going to scare him, but he ended up killing three others. Getting the glory of the kills when it was supposed to be all mine. Psh, that really cut out the quota for my killing spree. I didn’t know his pretty little mind was that fragile. Oh well, there’s no more use in crying over spilled milk.” He moves a little closer to Kyungsoo’s head, and it bothers Kyungsoo how he’s never noticed the silence in Yixing’s graceful steps, as if they’ve been choreographed and practiced to perfection. “I’ve got my prey right before me, after all.”
Yixing toes the side of Kyungsoo’s face, turning it to face the opposite direction. “You were beautiful. You all were. Too bad everything had to end this way. At least you got to die with your pretty little lover boy over here. Kouhai has finally noticed his senpai. How ironic.”
Yixing recalls the murders, the faces of those he had killed one by one: Chanyeol’s serene sleeping face, Baekhyun’s tear-streaked one, Jongdae’s valiant attempts at hiding his fear, Minseok’s crazed, erratic eyes that contrast Junmyeon’s ungrudging ones. And the look on Yifan’s face, saying he’s known it all along. He dismisses it. More souls are needed to be purged.
But Kyungsoo’s face swims in his vision, back when he first took interest in forming the plan that night he crept up on Kyungsoo burying a dead dog deep in the forest. Jongin’s laugh disturbs his thoughts, and a voice calls out to him. Hyung, hyung, hyung. Wanna eat chicken with me?
He flicks his wrist and a knife pops out of his sleeve, like a magic show on air, a magician about to start throwing daggers for the thrill of the show. “I’d rather kill them all before they kill me. We’re all going to hell anyway, might as well make it worthwhile.” He whispers, and it rings with such finality that Kyungsoo grips Jongin’s hand tighter and closes his eyes, waiting for the end.
But the end doesn’t come, only the sound of a siren and doors being slammed close. Yixing’s eyes widen, for loud chatter and sounds of dead leaves crunching under heavy feet as oncoming footsteps could be heard approaching. He stabs his own arm with the knife he was supposed to use to end Kyungsoo’s life and hurriedly lies face down.
“What the-“ A ray of white light shines over three bodies lying on the ground, and one struggles to stand up, face and arm bloodied. “Help, help us! Kyungsoo he-he killed my friend!”
The officer hurries over and helps the poor guy out, barking orders to his companion about calling for backup and for medical team to come over. “Are you alright kid? When we received a signal from some kid named Yifan, we weren’t expecting things to be like this!”
So it was Yifan. Even if he’s dead, he still had the guts to help those little pieces of shit out. What a hero. Yixing hides his irritation by looking all scared for his life and innocent, and he grips the plump officer’s sleeve tighter. “Please, save Jongin! You need to help him. He’s the only friend I’ve got left.” Yixing sheds crocodile tears, and the officer is moved that he promises Yixing that he’ll do everything he can to save Jongin, even if he doesn’t know who the hell between those two other bodies he’s referring to.
Yixing slips away from consciousness, feeling all the energy from his body drain away as the blood left in his body continues to lessen. His eyes crack open for a fraction of a second, and he is only able to make out concerned faces and a door being slammed shut. He opens his eyes and sees lights too bright for his eyes and white-washed walls, feeling his head reeling over. He is barely aware that he is lying down and is being wheeled off to the emergency room, but he thinks, “Well this is an awful way to die,” even though he knows far too much to even have thoughts that he’s going to die from a stab in the arm.
The first thing he says, a day after he is admitted though, isn’t anything like he wants to. “How are they?” He asks out of the blue, and the female nurse arranging the plates on the tray of food he is served almost jumps in shock at the sudden interruption of silence. She wasn’t expecting him to wake up at least for an hour yet since he looked to be so broken and beyond fixing that moment she saw him being wheeled in through the doors of the hospital, yet he seems to prove her wrong.
She seems to look uneasy, and she fidgets a bit before answering him. “I don’t think I’m in the right position to be the one answering that question, sir. I think it’s best if you find it out for yourself.” Yixing nods, mentally congratulating himself because that’s basically nurse code for “They’re dead.” And true to his assumptions, he hears news of the Kim family cremating Jongin and his friend’s body the day before he is discharged from the hospital.
He smiles to himself.
The victor remains undefeated.
☠☠☠
Here’s the plot twist: it’s not yet the end.
Because the end of this story begins one night that is quite different from all other nights, albeit the seemingly tranquil atmosphere that envelopes the whole of Seoul.
The light reflects from the edge of a sharp knife, giving it a metallic gleam. Yixing twirls the knife precariously with practiced hands. The doorbell rings and he smiles, all forms of kindness that used to be there barred off from his features. “I guess pizza’s here,” he stands up from the couch he is sitting on and walks over a body lying spread-eagled by his feet, wide, glassy eyes staring back at him, red shirt soaked with a darker shade of liquid red from his wounds.
He opens the door with a single fluid motion that is as well-calculated as a predator’s move right before it pounces on its prey. His mind is calculating the aftermath of his workings and the possible scenarios, yet he is taken aback at the sudden pressure on his forehead before he realizes that his body is being thrown aback with such a force that makes him fall on his back as if he is a puppet whose strings are being pulled by its puppeteer. His ears ring from a sound he doesn’t even remember hearing.
“Missed me?” A honeyed voice speaks up, and Yixing mentally curses at himself for not making his plan fool-proof enough. The strings on his body evaporate into the air, and he couldn’t move one bit. Not even the master puppeteer could help him now. “Oh, and here’s your special delivery,” an empty square-shaped box lands beside him, and he couldn’t help but feel pathetic for being beaten at his own game by someone as gullible as the wide-eyed dork.
“Hyung, come on!” Yixing doesn’t need to look up or even think who the other person calling his murderer was. He hears the shuffling of feet and the sound of rubber shoes hitting against the tiled cement floor as the two depart. He almost laughs at himself for not being able to correctly predict the outcome.
An eerie rhapsody chimes repeatedly in the background, and the lights dance in Yixing’s eyes as languidly as his body usually does during a performance.
He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of the world pulling at his eyelids. Everything goes black as the performance comes to an end. He doesn’t hear a single applause, nor gets a “Job well done,” or even a pat on the back for something he thinks that is well-orchestrated enough, because he knows that even at this point, no one knows what the truth is. They could make speculations and pinpoint the suspects, but they would never find out the real story. And that story would be buried with him forever.
The performance comes to an end, but he doesn’t wake up.
The games have been overturned.
☠☠☠
a/n: fill for this prompt. title taken from a line in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado”
a/n2: when I said that it was going to take me more than a week to finish this fic, I didn’t mean for it to get done I n a month. I am very sorry OTL