tell me, would you kill to save a life ; 5/14

[januarys_lovers]

Salt, Jongdae thinks. It's faint, but it's there, lingering on the corner of his lips. It's obvious enough for him to associate it with the same smell he's been associating it for the past five years: gasoline. His insides flip in his stomach, and uneasiness fills him at the realisation that he's been taken to the docks. His closed eyes stop him from knowing where on the docks exactly, but he keeps them sealed anyway. The darkness painted over the back of his eyelids is his most precious ally right now, so Jongdae lets it keep the upper hand on him. He feels the roughness of concrete against his limp body, feels the wall digging into his back and his hands lying on his sides, unbound - which is very good news. What he hears though isn't much of a celebration-worthy report, but slowly, discreetly, Jongdae still throws his senses at the dozen of sounds he perceives.

Heartbeats are the most obvious of them. There are five of them - four without Jongdae's. Two are agitated, erratic, one is regular, although a bit faster than what's usual, and the last one is slow, controlled, and almost hypnotic. The closest one, which sometimes misses a beat or speeds up unexpectedly, is probably Dahye’s, he muses, as his nose fills with the citrus fragrance of her shampoo. He hears her breathing loudly, shakily, as she struggles to swallow her sobs, and it has him itching to open his eyes to make sure she's okay. The slow heartbeat stops him from doing so though, because that cold, indifferent ticking is all but new to him. The hooded man is in the room.

Jongdae considers playing dead a little longer, just so that he can gather more data, but the idea leaves him itchy and uneasy. Dahye's shaky breathing fills his mind until he can't even hear himself think, and the two unknown heartbeats seem to be taunting him with what ifs. Whatever the hooded man wants, whatever his plan was, it's happening right now, and Jongdae has probably learned all he could from the unconsciousness he's been faking anyway. Not to mention that the asshole literally hung him earlier, and right now, Jongdae would very much like to get back at him.

Dahye sniffs somewhere on his right. He hears her clothes ruffle as she probably switches her position, and Jongdae lets go of the hooded man's heartbeat, of everything that isn't Dahye. How far is she? Could he reach her with his hand? Is she wounded...?

“Please,” Dahye whispers, breaking the silence around them. Her voice is low, almost inaudible, but shaky. “Please, wake up,” she begs. “Wake up...”

Jongdae turns his head on the left and opens his eyes, his heart jumping in his throat. He meets Dahye's red eyes, her long dishevelled hair half out of her pony tail, and her lips trembling. Jongdae catches one heartbeat slightly speeding up somewhere near him, but he's intent on keeping his focus on Dahye.

“Are you okay?” he asks her, and she answers with a sharp nod.

“I'm sorry,” she sobs. “I”m so so -”

Someone clears their throat, and Dahye closes her eyes with a slight shudder. Jongdae's blood boils, his own heartbeat taking over everything he hears as his head snaps on the right so fast, his neck cracks. It's a thing to attack him, to play with him and being all smug and unstoppable, but Dahye is off limits. His eyesight flashes with an angry red that his brain translates in pure shots of fire through his veins, and he feels the poison filling his mouth as he gets ready to lash out on the hooded man.

What he sees though stops him dead in his track. He swallows his anger, and lets the ice taking over his body freeze the adrenaline in his blood.

“Hello old friend,” Maxwell Thorne grins at him, looking exactly like the man he was five years ago.

It takes ages for Jongdae to take in the scene unfolding before him. Thorne is sitting on a chair, his hands bound together by thick ropes and tight knots. He's still wearing the asylum uniform, and it seems to be underlying the heavy madness glistening in his eyes, just like the sharp blade pressed against his throat makes his indifference stand out. Jongdae watches, the air crawling out of his lungs, as the hooded man straightens next to Thorne, the darkness covering his face staring back at him. He's holding a blade in each hand, the first one brushing dangerously against Thorne's Adam apple, and the second one leaving a trail of goose-flesh on another pale neck. Its owner watches Jongdae with huge scared eyes, sweat glistening on his forehead. In the darkness of the bare room they are in -construction site Jongdae vaguely notes - the man's flamboyant red hair stands out, but the fear sticking to his skin is cold, desperate.

It's a sight Jongdae can't seem to make sense of: the hooded man standing with his arms open, blades ready to slice throats at the slightest flick of his wrists, Thorne smiling widely at him, the stranger gripping his chair and looking like he's swallowing down the longest howl ever. Jongdae does understand the danger though, the lurking threat, and that is what breaks him out of his surprise. His hand flies to his belt and he grabs Dahye's arm and brings her closer to him. His fingers close on emptiness, and he looks down, taken aback.

“Why, did you really think our mutual friend here would have left you your weapons?” Thorne chuckles. “Dear, dear, dear, you seem to have softened quite a lot while I was gone.”

Dahye presses herself against Jongdae's back, and the latter chooses to look at her instead of answering to Thorne's friendly tone. His own heart is now beating erratically against his ribcage, each pump so violent he expects to hear his bones crack any second now. She meets his eyes, and he reads the same fear, the same underlying anger in her pupils.

“I traced your earpiece,” she says. “We're in the docks, near Northhill Bridge. But he got me before I could do -”

“Now, now,” Thorne chirps in. “It isn't very polite to start private conversations when you're invited to a tea party,” he singsongs.

Dahye glances at him with disgust, and Jongdae draws back his focus on Thorne. The latter flashes him an innocent look of mild surprise before he glances at the hooded man, who's faceless head is still focused on Jongdae.

“But you are right to be confused though,” Thorne says with a saddened face that brings Jongdae's temper closer to the surface. He was never supposed to see that man ever again. “Because it's not very polite to organize a tea party and not introduce every guest either.”

He ends his sentence with a long sigh that turns into a gargle when the hooded man snaps his wrist to turn the blade between his fingers. He presses the flat part of it harder against Thorne's throat until even breathing seems to be complicated for the criminal. The stranger on the other chair whimpers, shutting his eyes for a short second as though gathering his courage. Jongdae feels the anger rise again.

“What do you want for fuck's sake?!” he bites at the hooded man. “Who the hell are you?!”

Thorne laughs weakly, the blade closing most of his windpipe. The thin flow of air which manages to slip into his throat whistles as it struggles to reach his lungs, but it does not stop the man from breaking into one of the many Disney songs he knows by heart.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a-”

“SHUT IT!” the hooded man suddenly snaps.

He's so fast that Jongdae barely catches his gesture. The flick of his wrist is sharp and efficient, and the blade glistens as it flies up, then falls in the blink of an eye. Thick blood spurts out of Thorne's skin who chokes on his melody, the lyrics gurgling in the back of his throat as his eyes open wide. He raises his bound hands and presses shaking fingers on the wound now crossing his throat, and his composure crumbles and collapses as his jaw locks. Jongdae would enjoy the sight, he would definitely soak in the delight of seeing his worst enemy experiencing what it is like to be at the mercy of someone else's inhumanity, but the stain of blood on his vision and the metallic glisten of the blade have flashed danger through his whole body. His muscles are tense, ready to throw him at the hooded man at the slightest signal, and his eyes meet the red haired man's once again. He's pressed flat against the back of his chair, looking like he's not even daring to breathe because of the blade still pressed against his throat, but he doesn't blink, doesn't look away as Jongdae looks into his face. There's something daring in his posture, in the way he wears his fear in such obvious layers, and the longer they stare at each other, the louder the man's heartbeat gets in Jongdae's ears. Thorne's choking sounds die out until the only thing he can hear is the slightly slower rhythm of the man's heart. The left corner of the latter's mouth twitches, and he blinks, slowly but composed. He barely nods, barely moves, but Jongdae gets the message anyway.

He draws back his attention on the hooded man, whose head is tilted on the side, his hand back at holding the blade against Thorne's throat, and Jongdae gauges. He gauges everything. The distance, how fast he knows the hooded man to be, how fast he is, and how violently he could lash out his powers once he'll have a hold on the hooded man. The red haired man's trust is shooting adrenaline through his veins, and even Dahye's hands tightly closed on his chest in a poor attempt to stop him from trying anything won't hold him back. She's pressed against his back, her breath whistling in his eardrums and her heart reverberating through his body. It all dies out though, everything, until all is left is thick utter silence, and Jongdae's slow, calm heartbeat. His eyes finally stop on the hooded man, and his vision comes into focus until he's all he can see.

Something prickles his eardrum, a distant muffled voice, and it cracks Jongdae's focus. It's a whisper, and Jongdae follows the breathless words until he realizes they come from under the hood.

“Should I...?” the man is whispering in the darkness of his hood. “Now?”

Jongdae's blood turns to ice when he realizes his mistake. The hooded man is not alone. He glances around them, searching for another heartbeat, a hint about where his partners might be, and he meets Dahye's frowning face.

“Is it really the time - yes, I think so” the hooded man keeps muttering while Dahye and Jongdae exchange a glance. He hears her lashes brush against her cheeks, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

It's silent, quiet. Thorne's grunts fade out, along with the red haired man's heartbeat and Dahye's fast breathing, until all is left is the hooded man's voice. And that really is the only thing left. Jongdae searches in vain. No radio waves. No crackling voice answering through an invisible earpiece. Just thick and utter silence.

“You're completely nuts,” Jongdae lets out, which stops the flow of whispers from the hooded man.

He turns his head towards Jongdae who can feel the weight of those invisible eyes on him. They're pinning him down, cold and judging, probably as detached as the man's heartbeat is.

“Let me show you exactly what I am,” the hooded man says, in that same oddly familiar tone of his, light and amused, and under Jongdae's wide eyes, he lifts a hand, fingers still tight around the blade, and pulls down his hood.

Jongdae watches black strands fall back over pale skin, over sharp and defined eyebrows. He watches the hand pull down the black mask which was covering the lower half of the face next, he watches soft lips curling into a sharp patronizing smirk and blade-like jawline coming into focus. Something crashes against Jongdae's ears, loud and destructive like a whole building blowing up, and a very distant and detached part of him wonders if Thorne had the time to hide a few of his bombs in Port Ville. Then it does it again, explosive and erratic, and Jongdae realizes it's only his heart repeatedly crashing against his ribcage. Dahye says something on his left, but the commotion inside him is too loud for him to make out her words.

“Meet Park Chanyeol,” says the only voice capable of echoing through him louder than his own blood thumping against his temples. “He's from the Bottoms, but he made it out of that hell hole and became a reporter for the Sailor's Gazette. Why is that, Chanyeol?” Black deep - so deep eyes leave Jongdae's face to glance at the red haired man, who answers with a defying glare, and a burning muttered I'm not scared of you, you know. He is rewarded by a cold chuckle, and Jongdae is taken by those two eyes once again. “You see, Chanyeol wanted the people of Port Ville to know the truth about everything. He wanted justice, and he was ready to serve it himself if needed. Now, Chanyeol is one of the too few people money can't buy in this god-forsaken place. Chanyeol cares.”

Another smile blooms on the pink lips, a feral and ferocious one which cuts through the faint hints of softness lingering on the pale cheeks. Jongdae's heart hurls itself against his ribcage again, and a ferrous taste fills his mouth.

“Do I really have to introduce our next guest?” the voice says. It's chanting, it's playful. It's sharp and icy. “Maxwell Thorne is well known by the police department of Port Ville. Charged of mass murder, killed one hundred and sixty-nine people, and probably even more. Leader of a mob organization, manipulative bastard. Is also called the Bomber. Oh, and he likes Disney songs.”

Thorne grins madly. The cut on his throat has stopped bleeding, but the red now staining his asylum uniform gives him a vampire-like look. Jongdae's heart pushes against his ribcage, punching his lungs as it does so, and the two black eyes fall back on him again.

“As for me... well, you know me,” Oh Sehun says, standing taller than he was when he died five years ago.

“So I guess that makes one hundred and sixty-eight people” Thorne mumbles with a saddened look for his blood-stained hands.

Dahye whimpers against Jongdae’s back, and Jongdae has half a mind to turn around and check up on her, but he can't move. He can't even think, or breathe. When he blinks, the saltiness of his tears blooms on his lips. And he tries, he tries to work his way around that face he knows so well, but he can't. It just doesn't make sense. He has hundreds of sleepless nights to prove his point, litres of shed tears that make this whole situation impossible, but now, he's drowning in scents, and sounds, and lively details, all those things reality is made of and that he can't refute. He feels himself crack, his organs turning to lead.

“You're alive,” he manages to croak out.

Sehun stares at him, so tall, so broad, and so patronizing. Jongdae crumbles, he collapses, he falls to pieces.

“What a twist,” Thorne says. He glances at Sehun, then Jongdae, and breaks into a huge smile again. “How unexpected!” he marvels in a loud voice.

Sehun makes him shut up with another press of his blade against his throat. He looks so much like Jongdae's Sehun, but he's also so different, with his harsh cold eyes. He's taller and broader, his hair is longer, and it has lost the blonde chemical tint Sehun used to splatter on it, but he's also tauter, more still. Sehun was like electricity, he was fast and bright, but now light looks it's sliding off of. He was excited and loud, but this version of him is silent and controlled, and so, so distant. Jongdae can't breathe.

“Sehun,” Dahye finally says. She sounds so sad, so childlike. She sounds like she's nineteen again and screaming in Jongdae's earpiece while an abandoned warehouse explodes. “Sehun, is it really you...?”

Sehun looks at her, and for a fleeting second, that's all he is. Sehun, the boy who would soften around her, who grew up in the same neighbourhood than her, who treated her like a sister, like she was the only nice thing about Port Ville. The boy who investigated with her about Alpha, and who ended up knocking on Jongdae's door with her. It knocks the air out of Jongdae's lungs, and it hurts, it hurts so much to watch Sehun being so tangible, yet so inconceivable.

“You're alive,” he repeats, because that's really all he can say at this point.

This seems to bring Sehun back to his senses, and his head snaps back to Jongdae. He lifts his blades again, with long gloved fingers that Jongdae can now remember curling around his wrists, ruffling through his hair, pressing against his sides. They tighten on the handles and the weapons dig into the soft flesh of Park Chanyeol and Thorne's throats again. The association of Jongdae's memories and what he's now seeing keep colliding inside his mind. He hears himself breathe rashly, his lungs convulsing painfully.

“I am,” Sehun says. “Which brings us to our special meeting. Tonight, Jongdae -” his smile widens when both Dahye and Jongdae flinch at the name. “- you're going to choose who's gonna die.”

Chanyeol's eyeballs bulge out of their sockets as patches of red bloom on his livid face. He forgets the blade against his throat as his body straightens on the chair, hands gripping the armchairs tightly.

“What the fuck?” he protests. His eyes go from Jongdae and Dahye to Sehun and he glares at the latter. “Who the fuck are you anyway? If you think I'm gonna let you kill me, oh man you're-”

His voice cracks as Sehun presses the blade harder against his throat, the sharpness of it digging a bit too deep, and red soon slides along the smoothness of the metallic surface. Chanyeol gulps as Sehun flashes him a lopsided smile and a barely muffled chuckle.

“Sehun,” Dahye calls out. She's finally let go of Jongdae's shoulders, and she's the one leaning forward now. Her palms are pressed against the bare floor, and her body looks like she's waiting for some invisible starting blocks to throw her forward. “Sehun, what are you doing? Please, let him go.”

Sehun loses his composure when he looks at her again, and his brows furrow as he takes her in, black eyes scanning her features. He slightly winces, and his shoulder jolts up, as though trying to block a whisper from blowing into his ear. He slowly shakes his head, eyes growing distant and cold and he looks away, confused and frustrated. Dahye's breath hitches, and Jongdae glances at her. They exchange a look, her eyes heavy and strong, stronger than Jongdae feels. Do something they're screaming at him, urging and desperate. But Jongdae can't move.

“Stay out of this, Dahye,” Sehun hisses between clenched teeth. “It's between me and Jongdae.”

His voice has lost its playful and patronizing tone, and his eyes swoop down on Jongdae with liquid anger. He was cold and frozen a few minutes earlier, now he's burning, boiling, his gaze so furious and harsh on Jongdae that the latter feels it like needles digging into his face.

Jongdae looks away, feeling like throwing up.

“Oh no, Jongdae, you don't get to look away.” Sehun's voice is haunting, angry. “I didn't get to look away, remember? I was in that warehouse, and it blew up. I saw myself die after that asshole beat the crap out of me, and -”

“I'm sorry,” Jongdae breathes out. His mask catches his tears, but they eventually roll down his cheeks, cold and heavy. He dreamed about Sehun so much during those five years, and it's all coming back to him, every haunting burnt face, every look of reproach, and it doesn't even match what is now radiating from Sehun. It's seizing Jongdae by the throat, scrapping and tearing his skin. Jongdae doesn't bleed red blood though, he bleeds guilt and self-loathing.

Sehun squints at him.

“What?”

“I'm sorry,” Jongdae repeats as loudly as his shaking voice allows him to be. He looks up at Sehun, feeling smaller than he's ever felt, and the guilt he's been choking on for five years finally closes in on his heart. “I'm so sorry I was late,” he says again.

His voice breaks when Sehun's eyes light up with liquid rage.

“It's not about that, Jongdae,” Sehun hisses. “You were late because he told you you had thirty minutes to save me, but he set the bomb on twenty.”

Jongdae freezes and Dahye gasps. Thorne chuckles.

“Oopsie?” he says with a soft, innocent voice.

Sehun glances at him, but he quickly draws back his attention on Jongdae. There's a mad delight lingering in his eyes at the horror on Jongdae's face, and the most horrendous triumphant grin tugs on his lips. It last barely a second though, because the liquid fire is too strong, too angry and devouring, and Sehun is soon back at stabbing Jongdae with his eyes.

I’m giving you thirty minutes, my sweet friend. Isn’t that very nice of me? Thirty long minutes to celebrate our new friendship. Thirty minutes for you to try and save an old one.

Jongdae whimpers. The White Rabbit song from Alice in Wonderland pops out, and Jongdae presses a hand against his ear, wide eyes drawn to Sehun. The latter's gaze seems to harden even more.

“But you didn't kill him, did you, Jongdae? So he just pulled a few strings and ended up in a nice and cosy room in the asylum, and it didn't end there, did it? People kept dying, bad things kept happening.” His eyes narrow at Jongdae. “Tell me, Jongdae, did your no-kill policy clean Port Ville? Is everything better now?”

“Sehun,” Dahye whispers. “Sehun, stop.”

“No! You stop!” he snaps at her. His fingers clench around the blades, and he lifts his arms. Chanyeol lets out a short squirm that is cut by the thump of the blade driving into the back of his chair, barely a few inches from his skin. He gulps at Sehun, cold sweat glistening on his forehead, while Thorne throws a mild interested look at the other blade on the back of his own chair.

Sehun throws himself at Dahye, but Jongdae pushes her out of the way. Everything happens in the blink of an eye, how Sehun's eyes fall on him again while Dahye crashes on her side, and how erratic his heartbeat suddenly gets. His momentum has him swooping down on Jongdae in a flash. Jongdae’s muscles tense, and he jumps on his feet, quickly walking back as Sehun keeps running to him. The distance between them decreases in slow motion, and Jongdae braces himself for the impending shock as he raises his palms before him. His fingers clench on thin air, electricity and power curling around their tips and ready to be lashed out on Sehun as soon as the latter touches him. And time gets back to his usual speed.

Sehun comes to a halt with a slide. Jongdae looks up, taken aback, as Sehun glances at the few inches between Jongdae's palms and his chest. They stare at each other, Sehun's heartbeat slowly falling back to its regular speed, and Jongdae's heavy breathing filling the room. He has to slightly tilt his head to take in Sehun's full face, as he is much taller than he used to be, but up close Jongdae spots more similarities than differences. There's the pointy inner corner of his eyes that his Nightblade mask used to highlight so well, the light asymmetry of his lips, the roundness of his nose and the smoothness of his skin. He also smells like Port Ville by night, like rain magnifying neon colours and abandoned roofs. He smells like that night before he died, like shared laughter and longing gazes. Jongdae lowers his hands, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Sehun cautiously steps back as he does.

He flashes another furrowed look at Jongdae then turns around to check on Dahye, who's barely getting back on her feet. For a short second, it feels like he's about to walk up to her, but he finally settles on heading back to the two chairs.

“That was intense,” Thorne chuckles. “You got very fast, didn't you, my boy? Who should you thank for that, uh?”

“Shut up,” Sehun hisses. “Or I'll cut your throat open.”

“Well, that would ruin your lesson, wouldn't it? This turns to be even more endearing than I thought! Don't ruin my fun, you party-popper.”

“Oh my god, will you please shut up?” Chanyeol snaps. Jongdae doesn't miss his worried glance at Sehun.

“You know, I still remember you telling us that we weren't allowed to kill, no matter what,” Sehun says loudly as he closes his hand around the handle of the blade behind Chanyeol's back. The latter flinches when Sehun pulls it out, and it makes Sehun smile. “I remember you lecturing us about doing the right thing,” he continues, glancing at Jongdae.

He stops next to Thorne, his body losing its playful dancing curves for sharper and still lines. His eyes fall on Jongdae again, the coldness cracking open on liquid fire and burning anger, as he pulls out the second blade from Thorne's chair.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I would have thought that killing the bastard who took me away from you would be the right thing to do.”

His voice has lost every hint of mischief, every note of disdain. There's so much anger in the eyes he is laying on Jongdae, so much resentment and furious bitterness.

“It actually was my last thought. I told myself that at least I would be the last person you'd allow him to hurt, and that you'd stop him once and for all. But the next thing I know I am alive and breathing and so is he. And you, you're not even trying to stop him.” Sehun pauses, and once again, Jongdae spots the boy he used to be lurking in the depth of his eyes. His own heart jumps in his throat as sadness and despair flash in Sehun's irises, and he feels the hitch to reach out. But then Sehun blinks, and it all goes away. Jongdae feels like he’s just watched him die all over again.

“You know,” Sehun continues, defying but somehow hesitant. “I would have ended anyone who had dared to touch you. I would have killed them without a second thought.”

Sehun is raw, all layers of coldness and mastered anger stripped off of him. There's something creeping in on the darkness of his irises, something dangerous and different, something that has Sehun pressing the heel of his right hand against his own temple in a frustrated attempt at easing the monster eating him from the inside. He's not the boy who knocked on Jongdae's door so many years ago, he's not the young man who laughed in the night. He's the body that blew up, the bones that cracked and snapped. Jongdae chokes on his own tears, his breathing now so fast that he's about to hyperventilate. Another flow of breathless words leaves Sehun's mouth and even though Jongdae can't make them out, they scare him so much.

Next to him, Dahye takes a tentative step towards Sehun. The soft thud of her soles hitting the concrete jolts Sehun out of his muttering, and he looks up, eyes narrowing at the woman who used to be his best friend.

“What happened?” she asks him in a weak little voice. Her eyes search Sehun's, pleading. “Why are you doing this? What happened to you, Sehun? How did you -”

“It doesn't matter,” Sehun cuts her. The blades whistles as they whirl so fast between his fingers that they look like liquid metal for a short second. He stops them with a sharp flick of his wrists and presses them against Chanyeol's and Thorne's throats.

“Like the people you killed don't matter?” Dahye counter attacks. She's still shaking, she's still half crying, but right now, she's also straightening and standing tall and accusative at Sehun. She doesn't flinch when he draws back his attention on her.

“They were hardly innocent people, Dahye.”

“Oh don't talk to me like I'm stupid,” she hisses, her temper flashing through her eyes. If anything, it seems to amuse Sehun though. “What about Barbara Thorne, uh? She was no thief.”

Jongdae watches as the raw anger that was seizing Sehun's muscles barely a few seconds earlier dissolves while he flashes her a lopsided smile. Dahye's voice on the phone rings through his mind again, and his insides squirm with uneasiness as he's reminded of her tone, the fear laced all over her words. He didn't see Barbara Thorne's house, but he did see Sehun kill several people without an ounce of hesitation. It was one thing when it was just a hood and a featureless face, but it's now a familiar hand, a familiar pair of eyes. It's Sehun, their Sehun.

“Come on, Dahye,” Sehun smiles. “You're not that naïve. Someone had to give the orders while dear papa was locked up now, hadn't they?”

This seems to knock the anger out of Dahye, and she looks into Sehun's face with glistening eyes, all the colours draining from her face. Jongdae feels the same realization she's going through swooping down on him, but he just doesn't know how to react any more. The sight of Sehun's pointy teeth and the corner of his lips curling up as he's mentioning the slaughter of a good dozen of people just doesn't add up, none of this makes sense.

“Come to the point now, boy,” Thorne intervenes again. His chin is resting against his chest, but his cold blue eyes are focused on Sehun. He has lost the crazy demeanour and his amused look and is now oddly still and controlled. Jongdae picks up his heartbeat, which was erratic before and too fast to be considered calm. It is now slowing down. Uneasiness creeps up on him and he glances at Dahye, but she's obviously too upset to care about Thorne.

“Listen, Sehun -” Jongdae starts. The name feels weird in his mouth, almost unknown to his ears. It's been so long since the last time he said it out loud.

“No, you listen,” Sehun cuts him. “You were so convinced everyone deserved a second chance, weren't you? Let me show you - no, let me teach you that some lives are worth more than others. You didn't want to believe it, and look what happened. People died during those five years he was away, and their blood? It's on your hands, Jongdae. Innocent people died because you just couldn't kill a fucking sociopath.”

Sehun takes a deep breath to regain his composure. He slightly shakes his head, muttering a low and pleading shut up as he does so, and his focus crumbles. Jongdae feels the pull again, the itching need to take Sehun's hands and keep them between his fingers. When Sehun's eyes snap back to him, they're sharp and cutting, but they're right, and they cut right through Jongdae's heart.

“You can only save the innocent if you kill the villain, Jongdae. It’s Thorne or nice and honest Chanyeol. Make your choice, and then you'll understand... yes, you'll understand that justice often requires more than a scowl and four walls.”

Chanyeol bites his lips and Jongdae can almost hear the scream he's holding back leaping into his throat and curling on the back of his tongue. Sehun presses the blades harder against his victims' throats, and Jongdae leans forward, his ears buzzing. How many times has he dreamed about doing it? His eyes slide across Thorne's face, and he thinks about the nightmares, about the random pieces of dialogues still echoing in his mind five years later. How many times has he dreamed about stopping that voice from singing any song forever?

Sehun's hold tightens even more. Chanyeol tilts his head back to try and soften the pressure, and he gulps against the blade, blood dripping out from the tiny cuts. Thorne doesn't move, as though he couldn’t care less.

“So, who should I kill, Jongdae?” Sehun spits, fire and rage heavy in his words. “Sweet, hard-working Chanyeol? Or the mass murderer who whipped out entire families? I'm done arguing and you, you are done pretending that someone like him wouldn't be better dead.”

Thorne snorts. The cut on his throat has started to bleed again, blood blooming all over his jawline as he tilts down his head, his chin following his collarbone. His eyes land on Jongdae, deep and cold, scary and calculating. Angry. Jongdae's instincts scream hundreds of warning in his head. But he could end this. He could turn off the evil light behind those azure eyes.

“You should kill me, boy,” Thorne says, his voice lower, threatening. “Because if you don't, you know that I'll escape, and I'll kill him for what he did to my daughter. Only this time, I'll make sure his heart sits out of his ribcage.”

Jongdae turns his head towards Sehun, his blood freezing. The latter is still waiting, watching him, but something clicks in Jongdae's mind. Maybe there was a reason why Thorne seemed to enjoy this so much, maybe there was a reason why he hasn’t looked afraid to die a single time, and something tells him they now are getting closer and closer to that reason.

“Sehun, please,” Jongdae tries again, but Sehun's eyes narrow at him and he presses the blades harder against Thorne's and Chanyeol's throats. The latter chokes as blood now trickles under his collar.

“It's the two of them or only one, Jongdae. You just have to ch-”

The window behind Jongdae blows up, and something whistles past him, fast and thin, but deadly. Jongdae catches a flash of metal before it cuts through Sehun's leather jacket just above his heart. Then all Jongdae hears is the glass falling on the concrete behind him, crystalline rain filling his ears until it's painful and shrilling. He flinches as Sehun's body falls backward, and his senses shrink to nothingness, driven out of his control by the ear-splitting echo in his mind.

This is when all hell breaks loose.

More windows are shattered, and Jongdae falls to his knees, struggling to get his focus back. Something rolls towards him in sharp, metallic sounds, and his eyes lands on the small, cold device. His heart leaps into his throat.

“Dahye!” he calls out, kicking the smoke bomb away.

He whirls around, throws himself at Dahye, and the grenade goes out. The several detonations follows, and smoke already fills the room. A thick white wall falls over his eyes and his lungs clench in protest at the cloudiness filling them. His body finally hits Dahye’s, the shock drawing a whimper out of her, but her hands close like claws around Jongdae's arms anyway. He grabs her by the neck and presses on it until her legs give up and she has to kneel down, then he bends down and wraps himself around her as efficiently as he can. Smoke grenades open assaults, and they’re never the only weapons.

Something else blows up on the back of the room, and judging by the loud thuds and the vibrations that follow, Jongdae guesses a part of the wall just collapsed. Dahye struggles between his arms, and he curses, pinching her to force her to calm down. Guns start firing, and heavy shoes make the ground vibrate against Jongdae's knees. He turns his head and squints at the opacity surrounding him. Dahye's elbow crash against his crotch, and a jolt of pain takes over Jongdae's body, long enough for her to slip out of his hold. He bites his lips with a slight moan, but doesn't waste any time on the pain already fading out as he chases after her.

Voices are echoing, mixing with guns and groans until it becomes a huge chaos that Jongdae can't work with, not to mention the thick smoke still blocking out his vision. His heart clenches in his chest as he slides to a halt and desperately tries to make out something around him. He tries to pick up her scent, both his sight and hearing obviously useless in the mess around him, but he only smells suffocating chemicals and that same hint of saltiness always lingering on the docks. His mind instinctively throws him back to the last time he smelled it as heavily and panic settles in his chest as flashes of the warehouse blowing up fill his mind. This time though, he gets a new picture when Sehun's body joins the party, bullet hitting him on the chest and blood spurting out of the wound.

“Dahye?!” he calls out. Let them hear him, let them come to him, and he'll deal with them, whoever they are. He was right about Thorne, it was a giant trap. He should have seen it sooner.

Jongdae darts off with his hands stretched out before him, power buzzing around his fingers. The blown up windows are starting to suck the smoke out of the room, and now he catches faint shadows in the distance. Three of them are larger, square and impressive, their outlines almost inhuman because of the gear they're carrying. Jongdae lets himself fall on the ground just before one of them fires at him and immediately starts crawling towards the silhouettes. There's a fourth one behind them, a smaller one, and it's getting dragged away by the three armed ones, hands still bound. Thorne. Jongdae locks his jaws and he jumps back on his feet. Who cares about the bullets, he can heal from pretty much anything anyway. He's not letting Thorne walk away freely, not after everything that happened.

Something crashes against his side just as the silhouettes disappear in the hole in the wall, smoke trailing after them. Jongdae stumbles, struggling to regain his balance until, at least, fingers scrape his throat and close around it, leather rasping against his flesh. They press the air out of his windpipe when he finally topples over, dragging his assailant in his fall with him. His back hits the ground, the shock reverberating through his bones, and another body lands on top of him. Jongdae's breath hitches as Sehun's eyes fill his vision, angry and spitting fire. He freezes when he leans in and takes in Jongdae's face though. Surprise paints all over his face and he jerks away from Jongdae with an obvious scared jolt. Jongdae watches him frantically glance around him as he gets back on his knees. He looks out of his depth and confused, until his eyes land on the hole Thorne used to escape, and then it's back to anger and rage. He looks back at Jongdae for a fleeting second, and jumps on his feet in one swift motion. Jongdae barely hears him run to the windows, but he easily pictures him, body flying through the air with grace and efficiency as he jumps through one of them. Sehun was already feline back then, but now he's bordering on surreal and predator-like.

Jongdae closes his eyes, still lying on his back. Sehun is alive, his mind chants, and Jongdae can't make out the melody, doesn't know if it's a sinister one or a cherry carol. His body feels so heavy he sincerely doubts he'll ever be able to stand up. Gravity’s fingers are wrapped around his ankles, digging painfully into his skin, and for once in his life, Jongdae wishes the pain would never go. He wants to take the blow and bleed and bruise, and he wants it all to stay.

“Jongdae?”

Jongdae's eyes snap open and he sits up before whirling around. Dahye and Chanyeol are both on their knees a few steps away. She has one arm wrapped around Chanyeol's shoulder, her other hand soothingly pressed against Chanyeol's chest while the latter curls up against her side. He is huge next to her even though she appears more fragile than ever. The strong and fierce line of her shoulders is broken, her long beautiful hair dangles sadly on her chest, leftover of smoke ruffling through it, and even her peachy complexion has turn to a grey ghostly colour.

“Is he okay?” Jongdae asks, nodding towards Chanyeol.

Dahye nods. Then she snaps, she breaks and she falls to pieces. She starts crying. Chanyeol looks at her with surprise before slightly wriggling out of her hold so that he can wrap an arm around her waist as well. Jongdae wishes he would run his fingers through her hair and kiss her on the cheek, because that always soothes her. He wishes he could be the one doing so, but he can't seem to be able to move. He's not even sure he still feels his legs actually.

Chanyeol glances at him. His hair now takes over the lingering fogginess around him, the red strands echoing with the red blood staining his pale neck.

“Who was that guy? Do you really know him?”

This is what makes gravity's grip so suddenly powerful, Jongdae realises. He has no answer to that.

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