not afraid to fall [chapter 22]
Title: not afraid to fall [chapter 22]
Author: ivoryroyale
Genre: supernatural, friendship, romance, hurt/comfort, drama, suspense
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, mention of mental disorders (i.e. schizophrenia), dark!Key
Summary: in which a group of six aren't afraid to stand tall because they have each other.
Note: 7,412 words. Unbeta-ed.
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[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [ chapter 7] [chapter 8] [ chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [ chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [ chapter 15] [ chapter 16] [ chapter 17] [ chapter 18] [ chapter 19] [ chapter 20] [ chapter 21]
not afraid to fall
chapter twenty-two
Youngjae thinks that the worst part about Daehyun and Jongup dating is the fact that Daehyun has this constant urge to talk about it all the time. It’s not the tiny sparkles in the older man’s eyes or the happy blush on his cheeks or the obvious smile behind his mask--no. It’s the fact that Daehyun likes to talk about it every single fucking second of the fucking day to Youngjae, because, out of all the people in this stupid house, Youngjae’s the one he’s chosen as his best friend. Youngjae, who is desperately and hopelessly infatuated with him.
(Youngjae silently calculates the odds of this happening to someone else in the world, and it depresses him how high the probability is. Silently despairs at all the other hundreds of people in the world listening to their crush talk about the love of their life.)
“When does Jongup usually get home? Around four, right?” Daehyun asks. Youngjae feels a small headache forming in the back of his head. “Or three? I don’t remember. I know he told me before though. Should I do something for when he comes back? What do boyfriends usually do for their boyfriends? Youngjae, what do boyfriends usually do for--”
“Do you know what the word ‘reticent’ means, hyung?” Youngjae asks suddenly, looking Daehyun straight in the eyes, honestly considering whether or not to leave the house, so he could get some more post-its for him (but Jongup said he’d get some for him on his walk back home, so that’d be a little inappropriate considering his boyfriend should be the one running errands for him anyway.
Not Youngjae.)
Daehyun blinks at him. Youngjae’s not sure if he’s annoyed, depressed, or somewhere in between. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” And Daehyun doesn’t get it, and Youngjae knew he wasn’t going to, but he thought it would at least stun the blonde long enough to stay silent for a single second.
It doesn’t.
Youngjae internally groans.
“What does it mean, Youngjae?”
“Nothing, hyung, forget it.”
“No, really, I don’t understand--was that some kind of advice? Am I supposed to be reti--retic--” Daehyun cuts himself off, mouthing the possible different ends on his tongue, and Youngjae wants to leave, because he really can’t get over him if he keeps acting like this. “Uh--that?”
Youngjae chuckles, gives Daehyun what he hopes is a fond smile that isn’t completely distressing. “No,” He feels like dying, “in fact, I think Jongup’s very fond of your garrulousness.”
Poking fun at Daehyun’s lack of vocabulary is the only thing that’s keeping him remotely tolerant of this conversation.
“My what?”
“Be yourself.” Youngjae revises.
“Oh,” Daehyun says slowly, “why do I feel like you’re teasing me?”
Daehyun tilts his head and stares as long as possible at Youngjae, long enough to make him uncomfortable. He backs his way into the arm of the couch. “I don’t know; why do I feel like your stare is going to cause third degree burns to my face?” Youngjae deadpans, raising an eyebrow and discreetly biting his lip when Daehyun’s eyebrows furrow behind his too long bangs.
The genius recites the first one hundred digits of pi in his head to stay focused.
“I’m not Yongguk hyung,” Daehyun points out, “I can’t set fire to people’s faces.”
Youngjae swallows down whatever pride he still has. “You should give him a nickname.”
“Yongguk hyung?” His face scrunches up in the cutest of ways, and it makes Youngjae want to laugh and cry at the same time.
He chooses the former of the two options. “No, stupid, Jongup.” Youngjae takes a deep breath as recognition sweeps over Daehyun’s face. “He’d love that. Something cute.”
“What,” Daehyun says, looking a little red in the face, and Youngjae supposes he’s sort of embarrassed, “what do you mean? Something like--like ‘babe’?” And Youngjae can tell he’s really trying; he can see the metaphorical gears turning in his head, and it’s cute and pure and so fucking innocent Youngjae can’t really handle it. His face twists into a frown, and his face heats up before he can stop it. Daehyun crinkles his nose, and insecurity pricks at the rings of his brown eyes. Youngjae feels the mindless anger spreading acid in the back of his head, and his vision goes near white with tears. “W-what? Was that too much? Would he not like that?” There’s a splitting ring right in his head that makes Youngjae want to grit his teeth.
(And his brain thinks, shut up shut up shut up shut up.
Shut up before I make you.
And Youngjae thinks, right along with it, no no no no no.)
“Youngjae?” Daehyun says, almost timidly, when Youngjae starts running a hand frantically through his hair, hard enough to pull out a few strands, and the genius can’t really hear it through his thoughts, can’t really decipher what Daehyun says, but he knows he’s worried.
(Youngjae’s honestly a little worried, too.
Stop thinking about fucking Jongup and start thinking about me.)
“Are you okay?”
Youngjae chokes out a, “Yeah.” Presses the palms of his hands into his eyes as hard as possible and jerkily steps off the couch before Daehyun has a chance to peel his hands away from his face. “Yeah--I’m fine--I just--” (Don’t know what’s going on? How shocking.) “I--I just--” His voice is shaky, and he can feel himself slipping, can feel that it has something to do with his powers, can feel that this should not be happening, can feel that it began just around the time he started using his abilities at excess, around the time they found Junhong.
Can feel that it’s going to make him dangerous, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Youngjae, tell me what’s wrong; what did I do?”
And he’s silently thankful Daehyun phrased it into a question, because now, he has no trouble faking it.
He sucks in a sharp breath, forces his hands at his waist, and says, as convincingly as he can, “Yeah. You were just... just being really cliché. It gave me a headache.” Youngjae fakes a smile.
“Dude,” Daehyun says, and he looks annoyed and relieved, but-- (he really shouldn’t. Why don’t you just go ahead and tell him, Youngjae? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?) “you scared the crap out of me. I really thought something was wrong.” There’s a crease in the middle of his eyes, and (I bet you think that’s really attractive--) Youngjae just really wants to stop thinking.
“Sorry.” (I thought it was funny, chimes his head.) Then Youngjae says, without meaning to, “I thought it was funny.” Hears a cackling in his brain. Wonders what the hell is wrong, because that’s not him.
Daehyun takes it all good-naturedly (And I bet you just love that, don’t you?), glaring in a joking manner straight at Youngjae, and something in Youngjae’s head clicks at the sight, and he can actually think again, can actually control his head, and it’s finally quiet. He lets out a breath. “Just because I freak out about every little thing--”
“Sorry,” Youngjae repeats, sounding desperate, more sincere, and Daehyun’s eyes flash again, the mock-glare disappearing to be replaced by another concerned frown, “forget I said anything.”
Quiet follows. Daehyun stares at him. Youngjae tries hard not to catch his breath, and then:
“Okay,” And he says it slowly, calmly, and Youngjae likes the fact that Daehyun doesn’t push it, “okay.”
“I’m going to go check on Junhong.” Youngjae states, and he’s scared the voice is going to come back again--the voice that’s as soft as velvet and yet as grating as nails against a chalkboard, crawling into every fiber of his being like tainted, black air. “Bye.”
Daehyun looks worried.
Youngjae thinks he should be.
“Hello, Jaebum hyung?” Yongguk says when he hears phone on the other line on click. He smiles at the reply he gets.
“Guk!” Jaebum replies excitedly, sounding way too enthusiastic for someone that’s supposed to be older than him. “I would hug you, but you’re a phone.”
A purposeful snort leaves Yongguk’s mouth despite how absolutely not funny that joke was, because truthfully, he really, really missed his hyung and how he always used to try to tell him what to do and how angry he got whenever he completely ignored him (and it really has been too long since the last time they spoke.)
Silently, Yongguk jumps onto his bed, disposable cell pressed tight against his ear, eagerly awaiting whatever Jaebum has to say next. It briefly reminds him of the first time they met in high school--Yongguk a lowly freshman, Himchan attached to his hip, while Jaebum was a junior.
Yongguk remembers silently hating him at first, because Himchan downright admired him (borderline started crushing on the guy)--strolling down the school halls coolly, whistling tunes and easily getting anything he wanted: girls, grades, money, friends. He got everything, without so much lifting a finger, and Yongguk resented him--envied him, for getting all the things he couldn’t have.
Until one day, Jaebum chose to walk down the wrong hall at the wrong time, and ran right into Yongguk on a bad day--when the beatings were particularly bad and when the pyrokinetic was in an overall bad mood.
Yongguk remembers nearly burning Jaebum’s shirt off (and if it weren’t for the older man’s luck, he probably would have) and laughing about it not even ten minutes later (again, because of Jaebum’s ability).
Becoming friends had been a total accident, sheer luck on Yongguk’s part, but he wouldn’t change a bit of it.
Even though that was where it went all downhill for the three of them.
“Yongguk, are you still there?” Jaebum asks, and Yongguk snaps out of whatever reverie he was having of the past. “Dude, it’s been like, nearly a year now since we last talked. I swear, if you hung up--”
“I’m still here.” Yongguk says shortly. He practically hear the smile in his hyung’s voice.
“Good! Anyways, as I was asking before: why, oh, why are you a phone, Yongguk?” Jaebums says, completely serious, and Yongguk laughs for real this time. “Seriously, man, why? It’s been so long since you last visited. A lot of stuff has happened.”
Yongguk shrugs, wonders if Jaebum can predict his actions like Himchan usually does, but decides against it. No one except Himchan’s been able to do that for him--the man’s got some kind of special talent for it. “I’ve just been a little busy for the past year, hyung. Sorry.”
“Are you still--” Jaebum starts. Stops himself before he can continue, a distant crackle on the line. Yongguk can only smile softly. “You know, are you still--still in that... business; I guess you can call it.”
“I found two in the past year,” Yongguk says shortly as explanation, hoping that would be enough to solace the older man. Jaebum has always worried for him, has always been concerned Yongguk would bite off more than he could chew, has always warned him about stepping too far into rebellion and all the dangers that it brought.
(It’s a little too late now though, Yongguk thinks, Junhong at the front of his mind along with Jongup’s brother and old friends, old loved ones--old memories that he wants to forget. That he knows Himchan wants to forget, too.)
“Putting my money to good use?” Jaebum asks, changing the subject to something lighter, a slight teasing in his tone that makes Yongguk want to roll his eyes.
“You have more than enough to go to waste.”
Jaebum laughs. Yongguk missed it. “True, true. Hey, did I tell you that I found a thousand dollars in the pocket of my jeans today? Because it’s yours if you come over. Like, soon. Or now. Now’s good.”
“Hyung,” Yongguk says, raising an eyebrow, “you’ve got to stop with the shameless bribing. It’s not civilized. And furthermore, it is not normal.”
“Oh, shush, you’d be the same way if you could manipulate luck.”
“But I can’t.” Yongguk reminds helpfully. “I manipulate fire. And you don’t see me going around burning government base after government base because of it.”
“You’re right. Because doing it once a month in ‘moderation’ is totally better. I’m putting air quotes around the word ‘moderation’ by the way. You just can’t see it. Because you’re a phone.”
Yongguk laughs, harder than he has in a while, and all of a sudden he has a lap full of Himchan, who is making desperate grabby hands at the phone. The laughter slows to a near stop and Yongguk grunts in surprise, “Whoa, what the hell?”
“You’re talking to Jaebum hyung without me, aren’t you?” Himchan demands, a sudden pout on his face.
Yongguk holds the phone possessively to his cheek. “Uh, no?”
“Liar!” The younger man says, just as Jaebum says, “Is that Channie?”
“Uh, no, I do not want to order a pizza. How in the world did you get this number?” Yongguk fakes, trying a hand at acting, pretending to look outraged and failing, because the look on Himchan’s face is absolutely priceless. The younger man’s pout increases tenfold, and he huffs out a breath, frowning. He holds his hands out, waiting expectantly for Yongguk to hand him the phone.
The older man gives him a high five instead.
“Yongguk!”
“Shh, the grownups are talking, Channie.”
“So you are talking to him!”
Yongguk laughs, twisting on the bed to keep the phone out of Himchan’s reach, before he can hear Jaebum, too, saying into his ear as Himchan’s fingers try to pry open the grip Yongguk has on the cell, “He’s making that face isn’t he? That you-just-kicked-me-in-the-face look.” And Yongguk doesn’t even need to look, because he knows what Jaebum’s talking about, and he laughs out loud to the point his stomach hurts.
“This isn’t fair!” Himchan shouts. “This is a form of abuse. Neglect, I’m telling you.”
Over the phone, Jaebum laughs, too. “Aw, just put it on speaker or something, Yongguk.” There’s a faint cooing, and Yongguk has to bite his lip to keep the smile from flooding his face. “I can practically see the fake tears in his eyes.”
“I met him before you did, so it’s only natural that I get to talk to him first out of the two of us.” Yongguk defends, teasingly, clicking the little speaker button on the phone. Himchan huffs again, a forced scowl on his face that makes Yongguk want to pinch his cheeks.
“You mean you wanted to kill him before I did. You hated him for like, no reason at all.”
And Yongguk thinks, that’s not true, because he did hate Jaebum for a reason. It just wasn’t a rational reason.
(He hated him, because he took all of Himchan’s attention away from him.
But he sure as hell isn’t going to tell Himchan that.)
“Hey, now,” Jaebum nonchalantly says, and at the sound of his voice, Himchan’s face lights up. Yongguk smiles as the older man continues, “there’s plenty of me to go around, ladies.”
The smile on Yongguk’s face disappears; Himchan seems more-or-less unaffected. “Jay!”
“Channie!” Jaebum shouts back; Himchan swipes the phone out of Yongguk’s hands and holds it in front of their mouths, draped over Yongguk’s legs like a curtain, forehead nearly touching his nose. “How’s my favorite guardian angel doing?”
Himchan’s excitement significantly dies down, and he’s left staring down the receiver, mouth slightly parted, unspoken words choked on the back of his tongue. There’s hysteria in his eyes, and Yongguk knows instantly why, so he slowly wraps his fingers around Himchan’s hands supporting the phone. “Uh--” He stutters, closes his eyes, and Yongguk thinks about telling him about all the relative progress that Junhong’s made in recovering right then and there, even if Jaebum would have no idea what they were talking about. “N-not so good, hyung.”
Jaebum suddenly sounds serious, “What happened?”
Himchan flinches and glances up at Yongguk through fogged eyes. Yongguk gives him a small smile of reassurance, before patting the knuckles underneath the pads of his fingers. “Junhong.” Yongguk says shortly. “It turns out he--he, um, takes a lot after me.” (And that simple thought is enough to make the inside of Yongguk’s chest hurt, and he curses himself silently, all over again, for letting it happen.
He feels a sudden hand brushing through his bangs, and Yongguk looks up to see a smiling Himchan, broken despite that. Yongguk tries his best to smile back.)
“He pulled a Yongguk?” Jaebum asks. The fact that they can joke about this seems wrong, but it’s better than any other tactic, Yongguk supposes. “He broke into a base?”
“A fake one. Yeah.”
“What do you mean by ‘fake’?”
Yongguk purses his lips. (Feels angry again, because the thought of Key flits through his head, and he wants the pyscho mutant dead for what he did.) “It’s... it’s a long story.”
Himchan chimes in, sticking his mouth way too close to the phone, “He’ll tell it to you when he comes over to visit in a week or two!”
And Yongguk feels a little bit outraged and sort of disappointed, mouth dropping into a small ‘o’ because, “Hey, I wanted to tell him!”
“Too bad!” The brunette sticks his tongue out, while Yongguk glares, fighting the urge to singe Himchan’s eyebrows. “You snooze you lose.”
“I’ll show you ‘snoozing’.” Yongguk flicks a little fireball into his palm.
Himchan only laughs. “Ooh, I’m so scared.”
Jaebum, after exclaiming short phrases of ‘Really? You’re coming over? Yes!’, laughs over the speaker. “I would be a little scared if I were you, Channie.”
“Please,” The youngest of the trio says, sounding, overall, way too confident. He leans back into a squatting position on the bed, allowing Yongguk the chance to move forward with him. Himchan looks smug, “Yongguk would never hurt me.”
(And that might be true, but that doesn’t mean Yongguk can’t have a little fun with him.)
“Are you sure about that?” Yongguk asks, a sloppy smirk on his face as he tosses the fireball between his two hands.Himchan suddenly looks a little intimidated.
“Uhh, not so much anymore.” The younger says shortly, eyes growing bigger as he inches backward.
The pyrokinetic blows on the fire in his palm, effortlessly spreading soot in the surrounding area and successfully sending Himchan, a sudden tinted pink shield coating the length of his body, tumbling over the edge of the bed with the phone in his hands. “Argh!”
Yongguk laughs, falling onto his side, and from the foot of his bed, he can hear Jaebum laughing along.
“You’re lucky I had a shield around me,” Himchan grunts, glaring at Yongguk from his spot on the ground after picking himself up, “or else I would have been forced to hurt you."
The older man silently taunts him with a smile.
Himchan flicks his wrist, forms a mini circular shield somewhere inside of Yongguk’s nostrils, and laughs like a hyena at the look on his face afterward.
“You’re going to pay for that.” Despite the threat, Yongguk’s still smiling.
“Bye, Jaebum hyung! Gotta go!” Himchan laughs into the phone, promptly ending the call and throwing the cell into Yongguk’s hands before sprinting out the older man’s room.
Yongguk follows him not even a second later.
Junhong’s lying on the ground, right in front of the door, when Youngjae walks in without so much as a knock.
He doesn’t feel the door slamming against the top of his head, or Youngjae quickly yanking it away, but he does hear him say, even but labored, like he’s trying not to shriek, “Junhong, what are you doing out of bed?”
Instead of answering, Junhong tilts his head back, hoping it doesn’t cause some kind of neck injury to accompany the cuts decorating his stomach. He catches a glimpse of Youngjae, sees the way his fist is clenched tight around the doorknob, the sheen of sweat on his neck, and the look in his eyes, dark and laced with fake exasperation behind the speck of his black pupils. Junhong doesn’t even need to touch him to know that he’s hurting.
When about a minute passes of Junhong just staring at him, Youngjae attempts a smile that could compete with Junhong’s fake ones. “You’re going to end up really hurting yourself if you keep doing stuff like this, you know?”
And he does. He just doesn’t really care.
“Jongup hyung came to talk to me.” Junhong says, answering the question from before, when he sees Youngjae taking another step toward him. The genius stops right in his tracks, and Junhong can see a brief flash of hostility in his eyes. The fist wrapped around the doorknob tightens along with his jaw.
“Oh,” He says, but Junhong can tell he means so much more. That he’s worried Jongup’s going to steal him away, too, and he’s too scared to tell him he doesn’t want him to. Youngjae lets go of the door after he closes it as slowly as possible--as quietly as he can--trying to keep from slamming it, Junhong assumes, “what did he say?”
“He wanted to know if he actually loved Daehyun hyung or not.” Junhong answers. Youngjae gets closer, and Junhong tries his best to move his hands in front of his face to keep them from grazing Youngjae’s ankles.
He doesn’t want to feel anything right now. He knows how it would feel, knows how horrible Youngjae’s emotions would be mixed with his own, knows the mixture of the two would quite possibly make him want to cry, and he doesn’t want to feel any of it.
“He doesn’t want to hurt him, Youngjae hyung. He really, really doesn’t.”
Youngjae’s silent, looking down at Junhong with pity in his eyes.
And Junhong says, robotic voice and all, “I think I know how you feel, hyung.” Even though he can’t.
Slowly, Yongjae crouches down next to him, and Junhong watches him all the way, scrutinizing every little purse of his lips, every glint in his eyes, and the shake of his head, as he falls--almost hesitantly--into his arms.
After a moment, Junhong feels a hand connecting to his cheek, feels tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and he buries his face into Youngjae’s neck with a sob, because it’s just too much.
“Now you do.” Youngjae says softly, a bitter laugh stuck in the back of his throat, and he squeezes Junhong tighter--bringing him closer into his arms as the youngest breaks down, crying for the both of them.
“Uncle, uncle, uncle!”
“What was that?” Yongguk asks, sitting firmly on Himchan’s chest, triumphant smirk on his face. “Sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Himchan doesn’t know how, but they’ve somehow made it all the way to Himchan’s bathroom.
“Oh, my--uncle.” The younger practically yells, squirming underneath Yongguk’s weight. He can feel sweat on his forehead from running too hard, and he can feel his chest cavity collapsing, and it’s really not fair, because when they were little he always used to beat Yongguk at tag. “Uncle--damn it, Yongguk--get off.”
“What’s the magic word?”
Himchan deadpans him with a look. The older man merely stares down at him, hands crossed over his chest. If Himchan could move his hands, he’d make an airtight shield right over Yongguk’s face. “Now?” The younger suggests, smiling thinly.
“Not exactly what I was looking for.” Almost as if to make a point, Yongguk leans back, butt planted somewhere in Himchan’s stomach.
“Ow?” Himchan growls, attempting to wrench his hands out from underneath Yongguk only to be stopped by warm hands. “Okay, okay, please?”
He can’t help but think about how embarrassing this is, and he silently hopes he doesn’t look completely unattractive, sweat slicking his face, face most likely a blotchy red from the mixed humiliation and exercise.
He just wants Yongguk to get off.
“Hmm, better, but nope. Not really what I was looking for either.”
Himchan gives him a look, and apparently it’s hilarious, because Yongguk only laughs at him. The shield maker doesn’t really think so though. “Then what, pray tell, were you looking for?” He fakes curiosity, fakes nonchalance the best he can with someone crushing his abdomen. “Alacazam?”
“No. Good guess though.”
Himchan puffs a blow of air at his bangs to get them away from his forehead. (He doesn’t need hair sticking to his sweat, thank you very much.) “Oh, I know, how about I’m suffocating to death; get the hell off, you maniac!” More wiggling and squirming. Yongguk laughs at him again.
“Stop whining, I’m not that heavy.”
“Say that to my ribcage!”
“I’m not even anywhere near your ribcage, you big baby.” Yongguk adjusts himself either way though, and Himchan feels tons of pressure being lifted from his lungs. He takes in about ten gulps of air at once for good measure. The older man shakes his head at him, but Himchan’s too happy about the gummy smile on his face to care. “And by the way, I’m still not getting off until you say the special words.”
The younger man rolls his eyes. Feels as if Yongguk’s the one who’s supposed to be the younger one out of the two of them. “Can I at least get a hint?”
Two minutes later, and several horrible attempts charades on Yongguk’s part, the older man finally gives up and tells him. “Baker.” Almost to emphasise his point, he rolls his hands out in front of him, raising his eyebrows high on his head.
Himchan still doesn’t get it. “What is that supposed to be?”
“A rolling pin.” He makes the motion again. Himchan snorts. “Duh.”
“You deserve a medal. Really.”
“Hey, I was trying to communicate using your language.” Yongguk retorts, rolling off Himchan to lie on the floor next to him. The younger man rubs at his stomach.
“I wouldn’t have done it like that.” Himchan tries to deny. A long, hard stare is his only reply. “What, I wouldn’t have.”
“Whatever.”
“I--”
“So, job.” Yongguk cuts him off, turning to lie on his side, elbow propped up, staring down at Himchan as if preparing some kind of casual interrogation.
The giggle-snort that comes out of Himchan’s mouth is completely involuntary. “You look like you’re trying to seduce me.”
Instead of falling backwards like Himchan kind of hoped he would, Yongguk leans a little bit closer, bangs tipped just at the top of his eyelashes, borderline smolder playing on his face. Himchan feels his heart stop altogether. It’s another two point five seconds before it starts again, embarrassingly fast. “Is it working then?” Yongguk says, voice husky, and Himchan bites on his bottom lip. Wonders what the hell they’re doing and if this is just friendly flirting.
(Quietly hopes that it isn’t.)
Just in case that they are flirting (to which Himchan would totally jump for joy at), the younger paints on his best seduction face and prays that the light sweat makes him look more attractive than not. He musters up a musty laugh, and he’s not sure if it affects Yongguk positively, because he’s too busy freaking out to really pay attention. (He suddenly acknowledges the fact that this shit is scary as hell, and he makes a note never to tease Jongup and Daehyun again for having near panic attacks.) “I don’t know; you’ll have to take me to a movie first.”
The smile on Yongguk’s face quirks to the right just slightly, and Himchan has to fight not to scoot closer to him. “No dinner?”
“Who needs dinner when you have a perfectly dark movie theater?”
The smile on Yongguk’s face is completely gone now, replaced by a sudden shocked glint in Yongguk’s eyes. Himchan thinks he’s crossed some sort of line that he wasn’t aware they drew between them. A minute passes, then another, and another. Anxiety pokes at Himchan’s back like a needle. “You’ve gotten way too good at that--fake flirting... thing.” Yongguk coughs out awkwardly.
That’s because it isn’t fake. Himchan feels at a loss.
“I’ll go into town tomorrow.” He says shortly, sighing, feeling somewhat disappointed. “See if the bakery has a position open.”
He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes as he feels Yongguk’s glued to his cheeks.
Himchan wonders if it’s even worth being in love with his best friend.
It’s an established rule, now, that they don’t talk about Daehyun and Jongup (or ‘the puppies’ as Junhong so helpfully suggested after getting over his initial, well-needed breakdown.) Youngjae hopes it’s a good enough solution to the problem for now, because he can’t really think of anything else that’s sensible. (His brain tells him to do other things though. Other things that Youngjae doesn’t even want to say aloud or admit he thought, other things that he tries desperately to ignore, other things that he tries desperately to hide from Junhong.)
Now, the only thing that Youngjae needs to worry about is getting the both of them off the floor.
“Junhong, move.” Youngjae says, and he laughs when Junhong moves closer to him, wrapping his hands around his waist and pressing his face into his stomach. “I didn’t mean move closer.”
“Your stomach’s comfortable.” Junhong replies.
“I try.” Youngjae deadpans, trying not to wiggle away when Junhong props his chin onto the lower part of his waist. “Now get off.”
“Make me.”
“Choi Junhong,” Youngjae begins, giving him a look that he hopes equals zero tolerance. Junhong pouts at him, and he tries not to lose resolve. “I’m asking you to kindly get off. If you don’t within the next few seconds, I will make you.” Youngjae gives Junhong a small look of authority, and he can see the younger weighing his options in the back of his eyes.
When Junhong shakes his head no, Youngjae almost feels bad sweeping a hand over Junhong’s side to tickle him.
There’s this look of shock in his eyes as he tries to squirm away, and he makes this little squeak-shriek sound through high pitched giggles that Youngjae finds a little more than extremely adorable. Youngjae lets him roll out of his grasp with a laugh.
“That so wasn’t cool,” Junhong protests, voice still a little high, “I thought you were going to like hit a pressure point or something to get me off, not tickle me. What the hell?”
“Too much work.” Youngjae explains shortly, through chuckles, and Junhong gives him a glare, because he knows he hates being tickled. Luckily, Youngjae’s the only one, other than Yongguk, who can actually get away with it without being murdered. “Besides, tickling’s more fun anyway. You get all angry and flustered.” As if to prove his point, Youngjae pinches a finger into Junhong’s side, and with a silly howl, the younger twists away.
“You’re not funny.”
“You’re right; I’m hilarious.”
Junhong gives him this unamused frown, and Youngjae only sticks his tongue out as he lifts himself off the ground. The younger stares up at him as he dusts off his pants. “You’re really not funny.” Junhong repeats, pouting, flopping down on the ground as if to prove a point, averting Youngjae’s eyes to stare at the ceiling.
“Whatever.” The genius says, staring down at Junhong, hair splayed messily over his eyes, long arms and legs reaching out in every direction like a star. The muscles on his arms flex as he moves them slightly along the wood of the floor, and Youngjae’s caught, speechless, trying to form words that his head has trouble supplying him.
(Not a second later, it practically sings, ‘Oh my God, you think he’s attractive, don’t you’?
Youngjae significantly pales, feeling sick and afraid at the sound of that voice again.
He thinks he might be going crazy.)
“I can’t move.” Junhong says, helplessly, and Youngjae can’t even worry about him, because the voice in his head is too busy taunting him. (‘Youngjae has a crush. Spell it with me now: c-r-u-s-h.’) “You know what’s funny? Mobility is the first thing to go. You would think emotions first, right? But nope. Physical ability to feel: gone.”
(‘Oh, cry me a freaking river. Boo fucking hoo.’) “You’re starting to sound like me when I’m bored.” Youngjae says, voice a little shaky.
“Help me up?” The youngest offers instead of a reply.
And Youngjae really is about to reach for him, until the voice in his head tells him otherwise. (‘Not a good idea, Youngjae. He can read thoughts on contact, too, can’t he? What happens if he catches a glimpse of little old me? Would you really want your crush to know about your pseudo-schizophrenic tendencies, hm?’) Youngjae snaps his hands away from Junhong’s grasp faster than he can even hear. (‘Thatta boy.’)
“Hey, what gives?”
“Nothing,” Youngjae replies, (‘A little too quick.’) “nothing gives. I just--” (‘Better think fast.’ and Youngjae wants to scream, loud enough to block out any sound.) “I just think you need to learn how to walk yourself. You know, just in case you want to walk around without having to suck up another person’s legs.”
Junhong’s face twists just the slightest until Youngjae can’t even detect a single bit of emotion anymore. (And the voice in his head cackles.) “Harsh.”
Discreetly pressing the pads of his fingers into his temples, Youngjae braves a smile. “Harsh doesn’t even begin to describe me and you know it, Junhong.” Carefully, Youngjae steps his way over to Junhong’s bed, lowering himself onto the edge, keeping an eye on Junhong all the while to make sure he didn’t see. (‘Why do you want to protect him so much?’ Youngjae only ignores it--him. The voice is definitely male.) “Come on, I believe in you.”
From the floor, Junhong blinks, and as he tries to get himself up from the ground, hands flailing around for a surface, trying to get used to the numb feeling of his nerves, Youngjae shakes his head, trying to get rid of the echo beating against his cranium.
The moment Junhong’s feet plants themselves on the ground is the moment the humming disappears altogether, and Youngjae shoots up from the bed, hooking his finger into the belt loop of Junhong’s jeans to keep him from falling backward. “Careful--” He says, voice a little strained, and he silently thanks his head for his fast reflexes.
He catches Junhong’s eyes as he looks up, and without knowing it, the grip that Youngjae has on his jeans tightens. “Thanks.” Junhong blinks, not really sounding relieved, but trying to mean it all the same.
And without either of them knowing it, Junhong tips forward, bumping straight into Youngjae’s forehead.
“Ow--” They say at the exact same time, and Youngjae’s silently thankful the voice is gone, because he finds that he actually really, really likes having Junhong in his arms.
(And Youngjae doesn’t want to think about it, because he knows it’s completely illogical, but he thinks that the voice might be right, and he might like Junhong more than he says he does. He might like him more than a brother--more than a simple sibling--and it’s terrifying, because he’s not over Daehyun yet either, and Junhong’s definitely not over Jongup even though he feels it only a fraction of the time, and Youngjae really doesn’t want to get hurt again.
Why couldn’t love be logical? Why couldn’t the chemical imbalance in the human body be something controllable?)
The two of them collapse on the ground in a fit of laughter with a slight yelp on the tips of their tongues.
And Youngjae chooses then, with Junhong’s neck pressed against his cheek, not to think about it anymore.
Daehyun decides, despite nearly seven years of waiting in a jail cell, that waiting for Jongup to come home is a billion times worse.
(He honestly nearly cries when he hears the click of the door opening.)
With a little squeak that he would later deny, Daehyun zooms to the door, the smile on his face aching, and throws his arms around Jongup’s shoulders with enough force to knock him against the door.
Jongup’s shoulders shake with laughter beneath him, and Daehyun presses his face into the crook of his neck, savoring every little bit of it. Because he has a boyfriend--someone absolutely perfect that he can call his own--and it’s easily the best thing to ever happen to him through all the hell that he’s lived in. He feels hands around his waist pulling him closer, and it easily makes intoxicates him, like a drug. “Is this how I’m going to be greeted everytime I come home now?” Jongup says, voice a little bit distorted himself, muffled against Daehyun’s forehead, lips brushing against skin.
Daehyun pulls away with a nod. Jongup smiles that smile--the one that Daehyun’s come to love--where the corners of his lips practically reach his cheekbones, and he can barely see his eyes anymore, twinkling with pure joy and radiance. Daehyun finds it funny that he still finds it rather hard to breathe around him. “Hi, boyfriend.” The blonde says suddenly, words tumbling off the tip of his tongue, and his face heats up almost instantly.
He takes comfort in the fact that Jongup’s does, too. His smile turns bashful, and Daehyun finds he likes this smile almost as much as he does his normal one. “Hey, boyfriend.”
Daehyun bites at his lips to keep from giggling with glee.
Jongup finds that dating Daehyun is a lot like how it was before and yet different all the same.
First of all, they still talk like how they did before. They tell each other everything and anything that they can think of, and Jongup loves that--he really does.
But it’s different now, because he wants Daehyun to do the talking. It’s not like before, where Jongup could talk about everything that bothered him without worrying about what Daehyun thought or about what Daehyun wanted to say.
Now, he wants to listen. He wants the blonde to complain to him. He wants Daehyun to tell him his entire life story from his birth to the present. He wants to know all of the blonde’s worries and all of his wants so that he can make the worries disappear and all his dreams come true. Jongup wants Daehyun to be comfortable with him, and most of all, he wants him to be happy.
So, while Jongup plays with the blonde’s knuckles, leaning against his chest, that’s exactly what he tells him.
Daehyun’s fingers flush between his hands from a head-to-toe blush when he says it, and it completely amuses Jongup, enough to make him press each finger against his lips mischievously.
“Is anything bothering you right now, Daehyunnie hyung?” Jongup asks, smiling against the blonde’s index finger.
“Uhm.” Other than that particular noise though, Daehyun is silent, and Jongup raises a silent eyebrow, slightly worried.
“What?” He twists against Daehyun, cheek propped against his chest as he tries to look up at his face.
“Post-its?” Daehyun asks, a short and curt explanation.
Jongup pouts, “Oh,” and wiggles back into his original position, “they’re in my book bag.” The younger explains, glancing at the abandoned bag near his door. Almost carefully, Daehyun inches away to get them, and Jongup merely lays his head back again, stopping him, quietly weighing his options in the back of his head. “Can you--” He starts, cutting himself off with a bite to his lip. “can you just talk. Out loud? I really want to hear your voice.”
The flush is back on the palm of Daehyun’s hand and Jongup smiles, wide and bright. “Isn’t that a little risky? I could brainwash you, you know?”
“I know,” Jongup replies easily, fitting the spaces of his fingers into Daehyun’s, “but practice makes perfect, right?” He tilts his head up toward Daehyun, smiling even though he isn’t sure if the blonde can see him. “Maybe if we practice enough, you’ll be able to finally control it.”
Jongup nearly cheers when he feels Daehyun settling back into his original position. “So?” The older boy says, and Jongup loves the sound of a smile in his voice. (Loves the sound of his voice: period.) “What were you saying before?”
Jongup beams up at him.
It’s been a long time, Kibum thinks, since he’s actually set foot in this part of the base.
The base is huge, ten times larger than normal bases, and one hundred times more hidden. “One of the government’s greatest achievements,” he remembers somebody telling him before when he first came here, “it was built a billion years ago, and blah, blah, blah blah blah.” The details are a bit blurry to the young scientist.
“Kibum.” He hears suddenly, and Kibum smiles at the less than friendly face in front of him.
“T.O.P hyung.” Kibum replies, cheerily, and he laughs at the look on the man’s face. Completely blank. As always. “How do you do? Amazing, I assume?”
Choi Seunghyun stands, patiently silent. Kibum waits for him to crack, tilting his head here and there lazily. “You’re here to see Jiyong.” It’s not a question.
Kibum answers anyway. “Yep. Wanted to give him an update on my little chess game.” The smile that he gives Seunghyun is less than innocent. “Considering Seungri hyung is freaking out, I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
As a reply, Seunghyun simply steps away from the doorway, allowing the door he was guarding to slide open easily. Kibum finds himself staring down a less than familiar hallway. “You coming?” All he’s met with is air. “Guess not then...” The scientist trails off, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolls down the hallway.
Within five minutes, he’s met with a dramatically large door, and Kibum, too lazy to actually open it himself, imagines a doppelganger on the other side.
He’s met with the sudden sight of a dark room, Jiyong sitting directly in the center, legs crossed on a throne, looking halfway between cross and bored.
Even Kibum is slightly frightened at the eeriness of it all. “Hello, Jiyong hyung.”
“What do you want, Kibum?” The head of all the government asks; Kibum feels the slightest bit inadequate.
(He hates feeling inadequate.)
“I thought you might want to hear about my plans about the daily troublemakers.” Kibum smirks, but Jiyong looks nothing but uninterested. He’s never been able out figure out why, why he always seems to look like that no matter what he feels. Seungri can say he looks angry, can say he seems intolerable, but all Kibum can see is a shell that sees everything and anything that it wants.
“I suppose this time you actually plan to kill them.” Jiyong sounds unbearably threatening. The sentence translates to a clear, ‘if you don’t kill them this time, you’re dead.’
Kibum smiles, something wicked that probably would have scared anyone else but doesn’t alarm Jiyong in the slightest. “I plan to do more than that, sir. I plan on destroying them--torturing them in the most delightful ways.”
“What have you accomplished so far?”
“I know of their whereabouts.” Kibum says proudly, but there’s not a single hint on Jiyong’s face that indicates that he is too. “And I’ve begun my pursuit on the rook. I plan on making him fall, so that the foundation of the ‘family’ falls with him. He’s surprisingly important despite how crappy he’s treated.” He allows a small, evil smile. “And also easily manipulated.” Kibum glances up at Jiyong again. “It’s their turn once again though, sir, so--”
There’s a distinct darkness in his eyes that sends chills up the spine of Kibum’s illusion.
Then, Jiyong says, voice even and smooth in the cold atmosphere, “So long as the prisoner mutant is in my grasp again, and Choi Junhong and Bang Yongguk are killed by the end of your idiotic game, I don’t care how long it takes.”
Kibum feels a little stunned.
“What’s your next plan of attack?”
Despite the fear in his bones at being in the presence of Jiyong, Kibum smiles, wide and absolutely terrifying.
“Take down the queen to get to the king.”
-----
Previous | Next
Author: ivoryroyale
Genre: supernatural, friendship, romance, hurt/comfort, drama, suspense
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, mention of mental disorders (i.e. schizophrenia), dark!Key
Summary: in which a group of six aren't afraid to stand tall because they have each other.
Note: 7,412 words. Unbeta-ed.
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[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [ chapter 7] [chapter 8] [ chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [ chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [ chapter 15] [ chapter 16] [ chapter 17] [ chapter 18] [ chapter 19] [ chapter 20] [ chapter 21]
not afraid to fall
chapter twenty-two
Youngjae thinks that the worst part about Daehyun and Jongup dating is the fact that Daehyun has this constant urge to talk about it all the time. It’s not the tiny sparkles in the older man’s eyes or the happy blush on his cheeks or the obvious smile behind his mask--no. It’s the fact that Daehyun likes to talk about it every single fucking second of the fucking day to Youngjae, because, out of all the people in this stupid house, Youngjae’s the one he’s chosen as his best friend. Youngjae, who is desperately and hopelessly infatuated with him.
(Youngjae silently calculates the odds of this happening to someone else in the world, and it depresses him how high the probability is. Silently despairs at all the other hundreds of people in the world listening to their crush talk about the love of their life.)
“When does Jongup usually get home? Around four, right?” Daehyun asks. Youngjae feels a small headache forming in the back of his head. “Or three? I don’t remember. I know he told me before though. Should I do something for when he comes back? What do boyfriends usually do for their boyfriends? Youngjae, what do boyfriends usually do for--”
“Do you know what the word ‘reticent’ means, hyung?” Youngjae asks suddenly, looking Daehyun straight in the eyes, honestly considering whether or not to leave the house, so he could get some more post-its for him (but Jongup said he’d get some for him on his walk back home, so that’d be a little inappropriate considering his boyfriend should be the one running errands for him anyway.
Not Youngjae.)
Daehyun blinks at him. Youngjae’s not sure if he’s annoyed, depressed, or somewhere in between. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” And Daehyun doesn’t get it, and Youngjae knew he wasn’t going to, but he thought it would at least stun the blonde long enough to stay silent for a single second.
It doesn’t.
Youngjae internally groans.
“What does it mean, Youngjae?”
“Nothing, hyung, forget it.”
“No, really, I don’t understand--was that some kind of advice? Am I supposed to be reti--retic--” Daehyun cuts himself off, mouthing the possible different ends on his tongue, and Youngjae wants to leave, because he really can’t get over him if he keeps acting like this. “Uh--that?”
Youngjae chuckles, gives Daehyun what he hopes is a fond smile that isn’t completely distressing. “No,” He feels like dying, “in fact, I think Jongup’s very fond of your garrulousness.”
Poking fun at Daehyun’s lack of vocabulary is the only thing that’s keeping him remotely tolerant of this conversation.
“My what?”
“Be yourself.” Youngjae revises.
“Oh,” Daehyun says slowly, “why do I feel like you’re teasing me?”
Daehyun tilts his head and stares as long as possible at Youngjae, long enough to make him uncomfortable. He backs his way into the arm of the couch. “I don’t know; why do I feel like your stare is going to cause third degree burns to my face?” Youngjae deadpans, raising an eyebrow and discreetly biting his lip when Daehyun’s eyebrows furrow behind his too long bangs.
The genius recites the first one hundred digits of pi in his head to stay focused.
“I’m not Yongguk hyung,” Daehyun points out, “I can’t set fire to people’s faces.”
Youngjae swallows down whatever pride he still has. “You should give him a nickname.”
“Yongguk hyung?” His face scrunches up in the cutest of ways, and it makes Youngjae want to laugh and cry at the same time.
He chooses the former of the two options. “No, stupid, Jongup.” Youngjae takes a deep breath as recognition sweeps over Daehyun’s face. “He’d love that. Something cute.”
“What,” Daehyun says, looking a little red in the face, and Youngjae supposes he’s sort of embarrassed, “what do you mean? Something like--like ‘babe’?” And Youngjae can tell he’s really trying; he can see the metaphorical gears turning in his head, and it’s cute and pure and so fucking innocent Youngjae can’t really handle it. His face twists into a frown, and his face heats up before he can stop it. Daehyun crinkles his nose, and insecurity pricks at the rings of his brown eyes. Youngjae feels the mindless anger spreading acid in the back of his head, and his vision goes near white with tears. “W-what? Was that too much? Would he not like that?” There’s a splitting ring right in his head that makes Youngjae want to grit his teeth.
(And his brain thinks, shut up shut up shut up shut up.
Shut up before I make you.
And Youngjae thinks, right along with it, no no no no no.)
“Youngjae?” Daehyun says, almost timidly, when Youngjae starts running a hand frantically through his hair, hard enough to pull out a few strands, and the genius can’t really hear it through his thoughts, can’t really decipher what Daehyun says, but he knows he’s worried.
(Youngjae’s honestly a little worried, too.
Stop thinking about fucking Jongup and start thinking about me.)
“Are you okay?”
Youngjae chokes out a, “Yeah.” Presses the palms of his hands into his eyes as hard as possible and jerkily steps off the couch before Daehyun has a chance to peel his hands away from his face. “Yeah--I’m fine--I just--” (Don’t know what’s going on? How shocking.) “I--I just--” His voice is shaky, and he can feel himself slipping, can feel that it has something to do with his powers, can feel that this should not be happening, can feel that it began just around the time he started using his abilities at excess, around the time they found Junhong.
Can feel that it’s going to make him dangerous, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Youngjae, tell me what’s wrong; what did I do?”
And he’s silently thankful Daehyun phrased it into a question, because now, he has no trouble faking it.
He sucks in a sharp breath, forces his hands at his waist, and says, as convincingly as he can, “Yeah. You were just... just being really cliché. It gave me a headache.” Youngjae fakes a smile.
“Dude,” Daehyun says, and he looks annoyed and relieved, but-- (he really shouldn’t. Why don’t you just go ahead and tell him, Youngjae? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?) “you scared the crap out of me. I really thought something was wrong.” There’s a crease in the middle of his eyes, and (I bet you think that’s really attractive--) Youngjae just really wants to stop thinking.
“Sorry.” (I thought it was funny, chimes his head.) Then Youngjae says, without meaning to, “I thought it was funny.” Hears a cackling in his brain. Wonders what the hell is wrong, because that’s not him.
Daehyun takes it all good-naturedly (And I bet you just love that, don’t you?), glaring in a joking manner straight at Youngjae, and something in Youngjae’s head clicks at the sight, and he can actually think again, can actually control his head, and it’s finally quiet. He lets out a breath. “Just because I freak out about every little thing--”
“Sorry,” Youngjae repeats, sounding desperate, more sincere, and Daehyun’s eyes flash again, the mock-glare disappearing to be replaced by another concerned frown, “forget I said anything.”
Quiet follows. Daehyun stares at him. Youngjae tries hard not to catch his breath, and then:
“Okay,” And he says it slowly, calmly, and Youngjae likes the fact that Daehyun doesn’t push it, “okay.”
“I’m going to go check on Junhong.” Youngjae states, and he’s scared the voice is going to come back again--the voice that’s as soft as velvet and yet as grating as nails against a chalkboard, crawling into every fiber of his being like tainted, black air. “Bye.”
Daehyun looks worried.
Youngjae thinks he should be.
“Hello, Jaebum hyung?” Yongguk says when he hears phone on the other line on click. He smiles at the reply he gets.
“Guk!” Jaebum replies excitedly, sounding way too enthusiastic for someone that’s supposed to be older than him. “I would hug you, but you’re a phone.”
A purposeful snort leaves Yongguk’s mouth despite how absolutely not funny that joke was, because truthfully, he really, really missed his hyung and how he always used to try to tell him what to do and how angry he got whenever he completely ignored him (and it really has been too long since the last time they spoke.)
Silently, Yongguk jumps onto his bed, disposable cell pressed tight against his ear, eagerly awaiting whatever Jaebum has to say next. It briefly reminds him of the first time they met in high school--Yongguk a lowly freshman, Himchan attached to his hip, while Jaebum was a junior.
Yongguk remembers silently hating him at first, because Himchan downright admired him (borderline started crushing on the guy)--strolling down the school halls coolly, whistling tunes and easily getting anything he wanted: girls, grades, money, friends. He got everything, without so much lifting a finger, and Yongguk resented him--envied him, for getting all the things he couldn’t have.
Until one day, Jaebum chose to walk down the wrong hall at the wrong time, and ran right into Yongguk on a bad day--when the beatings were particularly bad and when the pyrokinetic was in an overall bad mood.
Yongguk remembers nearly burning Jaebum’s shirt off (and if it weren’t for the older man’s luck, he probably would have) and laughing about it not even ten minutes later (again, because of Jaebum’s ability).
Becoming friends had been a total accident, sheer luck on Yongguk’s part, but he wouldn’t change a bit of it.
Even though that was where it went all downhill for the three of them.
“Yongguk, are you still there?” Jaebum asks, and Yongguk snaps out of whatever reverie he was having of the past. “Dude, it’s been like, nearly a year now since we last talked. I swear, if you hung up--”
“I’m still here.” Yongguk says shortly. He practically hear the smile in his hyung’s voice.
“Good! Anyways, as I was asking before: why, oh, why are you a phone, Yongguk?” Jaebums says, completely serious, and Yongguk laughs for real this time. “Seriously, man, why? It’s been so long since you last visited. A lot of stuff has happened.”
Yongguk shrugs, wonders if Jaebum can predict his actions like Himchan usually does, but decides against it. No one except Himchan’s been able to do that for him--the man’s got some kind of special talent for it. “I’ve just been a little busy for the past year, hyung. Sorry.”
“Are you still--” Jaebum starts. Stops himself before he can continue, a distant crackle on the line. Yongguk can only smile softly. “You know, are you still--still in that... business; I guess you can call it.”
“I found two in the past year,” Yongguk says shortly as explanation, hoping that would be enough to solace the older man. Jaebum has always worried for him, has always been concerned Yongguk would bite off more than he could chew, has always warned him about stepping too far into rebellion and all the dangers that it brought.
(It’s a little too late now though, Yongguk thinks, Junhong at the front of his mind along with Jongup’s brother and old friends, old loved ones--old memories that he wants to forget. That he knows Himchan wants to forget, too.)
“Putting my money to good use?” Jaebum asks, changing the subject to something lighter, a slight teasing in his tone that makes Yongguk want to roll his eyes.
“You have more than enough to go to waste.”
Jaebum laughs. Yongguk missed it. “True, true. Hey, did I tell you that I found a thousand dollars in the pocket of my jeans today? Because it’s yours if you come over. Like, soon. Or now. Now’s good.”
“Hyung,” Yongguk says, raising an eyebrow, “you’ve got to stop with the shameless bribing. It’s not civilized. And furthermore, it is not normal.”
“Oh, shush, you’d be the same way if you could manipulate luck.”
“But I can’t.” Yongguk reminds helpfully. “I manipulate fire. And you don’t see me going around burning government base after government base because of it.”
“You’re right. Because doing it once a month in ‘moderation’ is totally better. I’m putting air quotes around the word ‘moderation’ by the way. You just can’t see it. Because you’re a phone.”
Yongguk laughs, harder than he has in a while, and all of a sudden he has a lap full of Himchan, who is making desperate grabby hands at the phone. The laughter slows to a near stop and Yongguk grunts in surprise, “Whoa, what the hell?”
“You’re talking to Jaebum hyung without me, aren’t you?” Himchan demands, a sudden pout on his face.
Yongguk holds the phone possessively to his cheek. “Uh, no?”
“Liar!” The younger man says, just as Jaebum says, “Is that Channie?”
“Uh, no, I do not want to order a pizza. How in the world did you get this number?” Yongguk fakes, trying a hand at acting, pretending to look outraged and failing, because the look on Himchan’s face is absolutely priceless. The younger man’s pout increases tenfold, and he huffs out a breath, frowning. He holds his hands out, waiting expectantly for Yongguk to hand him the phone.
The older man gives him a high five instead.
“Yongguk!”
“Shh, the grownups are talking, Channie.”
“So you are talking to him!”
Yongguk laughs, twisting on the bed to keep the phone out of Himchan’s reach, before he can hear Jaebum, too, saying into his ear as Himchan’s fingers try to pry open the grip Yongguk has on the cell, “He’s making that face isn’t he? That you-just-kicked-me-in-the-face look.” And Yongguk doesn’t even need to look, because he knows what Jaebum’s talking about, and he laughs out loud to the point his stomach hurts.
“This isn’t fair!” Himchan shouts. “This is a form of abuse. Neglect, I’m telling you.”
Over the phone, Jaebum laughs, too. “Aw, just put it on speaker or something, Yongguk.” There’s a faint cooing, and Yongguk has to bite his lip to keep the smile from flooding his face. “I can practically see the fake tears in his eyes.”
“I met him before you did, so it’s only natural that I get to talk to him first out of the two of us.” Yongguk defends, teasingly, clicking the little speaker button on the phone. Himchan huffs again, a forced scowl on his face that makes Yongguk want to pinch his cheeks.
“You mean you wanted to kill him before I did. You hated him for like, no reason at all.”
And Yongguk thinks, that’s not true, because he did hate Jaebum for a reason. It just wasn’t a rational reason.
(He hated him, because he took all of Himchan’s attention away from him.
But he sure as hell isn’t going to tell Himchan that.)
“Hey, now,” Jaebum nonchalantly says, and at the sound of his voice, Himchan’s face lights up. Yongguk smiles as the older man continues, “there’s plenty of me to go around, ladies.”
The smile on Yongguk’s face disappears; Himchan seems more-or-less unaffected. “Jay!”
“Channie!” Jaebum shouts back; Himchan swipes the phone out of Yongguk’s hands and holds it in front of their mouths, draped over Yongguk’s legs like a curtain, forehead nearly touching his nose. “How’s my favorite guardian angel doing?”
Himchan’s excitement significantly dies down, and he’s left staring down the receiver, mouth slightly parted, unspoken words choked on the back of his tongue. There’s hysteria in his eyes, and Yongguk knows instantly why, so he slowly wraps his fingers around Himchan’s hands supporting the phone. “Uh--” He stutters, closes his eyes, and Yongguk thinks about telling him about all the relative progress that Junhong’s made in recovering right then and there, even if Jaebum would have no idea what they were talking about. “N-not so good, hyung.”
Jaebum suddenly sounds serious, “What happened?”
Himchan flinches and glances up at Yongguk through fogged eyes. Yongguk gives him a small smile of reassurance, before patting the knuckles underneath the pads of his fingers. “Junhong.” Yongguk says shortly. “It turns out he--he, um, takes a lot after me.” (And that simple thought is enough to make the inside of Yongguk’s chest hurt, and he curses himself silently, all over again, for letting it happen.
He feels a sudden hand brushing through his bangs, and Yongguk looks up to see a smiling Himchan, broken despite that. Yongguk tries his best to smile back.)
“He pulled a Yongguk?” Jaebum asks. The fact that they can joke about this seems wrong, but it’s better than any other tactic, Yongguk supposes. “He broke into a base?”
“A fake one. Yeah.”
“What do you mean by ‘fake’?”
Yongguk purses his lips. (Feels angry again, because the thought of Key flits through his head, and he wants the pyscho mutant dead for what he did.) “It’s... it’s a long story.”
Himchan chimes in, sticking his mouth way too close to the phone, “He’ll tell it to you when he comes over to visit in a week or two!”
And Yongguk feels a little bit outraged and sort of disappointed, mouth dropping into a small ‘o’ because, “Hey, I wanted to tell him!”
“Too bad!” The brunette sticks his tongue out, while Yongguk glares, fighting the urge to singe Himchan’s eyebrows. “You snooze you lose.”
“I’ll show you ‘snoozing’.” Yongguk flicks a little fireball into his palm.
Himchan only laughs. “Ooh, I’m so scared.”
Jaebum, after exclaiming short phrases of ‘Really? You’re coming over? Yes!’, laughs over the speaker. “I would be a little scared if I were you, Channie.”
“Please,” The youngest of the trio says, sounding, overall, way too confident. He leans back into a squatting position on the bed, allowing Yongguk the chance to move forward with him. Himchan looks smug, “Yongguk would never hurt me.”
(And that might be true, but that doesn’t mean Yongguk can’t have a little fun with him.)
“Are you sure about that?” Yongguk asks, a sloppy smirk on his face as he tosses the fireball between his two hands.Himchan suddenly looks a little intimidated.
“Uhh, not so much anymore.” The younger says shortly, eyes growing bigger as he inches backward.
The pyrokinetic blows on the fire in his palm, effortlessly spreading soot in the surrounding area and successfully sending Himchan, a sudden tinted pink shield coating the length of his body, tumbling over the edge of the bed with the phone in his hands. “Argh!”
Yongguk laughs, falling onto his side, and from the foot of his bed, he can hear Jaebum laughing along.
“You’re lucky I had a shield around me,” Himchan grunts, glaring at Yongguk from his spot on the ground after picking himself up, “or else I would have been forced to hurt you."
The older man silently taunts him with a smile.
Himchan flicks his wrist, forms a mini circular shield somewhere inside of Yongguk’s nostrils, and laughs like a hyena at the look on his face afterward.
“You’re going to pay for that.” Despite the threat, Yongguk’s still smiling.
“Bye, Jaebum hyung! Gotta go!” Himchan laughs into the phone, promptly ending the call and throwing the cell into Yongguk’s hands before sprinting out the older man’s room.
Yongguk follows him not even a second later.
Junhong’s lying on the ground, right in front of the door, when Youngjae walks in without so much as a knock.
He doesn’t feel the door slamming against the top of his head, or Youngjae quickly yanking it away, but he does hear him say, even but labored, like he’s trying not to shriek, “Junhong, what are you doing out of bed?”
Instead of answering, Junhong tilts his head back, hoping it doesn’t cause some kind of neck injury to accompany the cuts decorating his stomach. He catches a glimpse of Youngjae, sees the way his fist is clenched tight around the doorknob, the sheen of sweat on his neck, and the look in his eyes, dark and laced with fake exasperation behind the speck of his black pupils. Junhong doesn’t even need to touch him to know that he’s hurting.
When about a minute passes of Junhong just staring at him, Youngjae attempts a smile that could compete with Junhong’s fake ones. “You’re going to end up really hurting yourself if you keep doing stuff like this, you know?”
And he does. He just doesn’t really care.
“Jongup hyung came to talk to me.” Junhong says, answering the question from before, when he sees Youngjae taking another step toward him. The genius stops right in his tracks, and Junhong can see a brief flash of hostility in his eyes. The fist wrapped around the doorknob tightens along with his jaw.
“Oh,” He says, but Junhong can tell he means so much more. That he’s worried Jongup’s going to steal him away, too, and he’s too scared to tell him he doesn’t want him to. Youngjae lets go of the door after he closes it as slowly as possible--as quietly as he can--trying to keep from slamming it, Junhong assumes, “what did he say?”
“He wanted to know if he actually loved Daehyun hyung or not.” Junhong answers. Youngjae gets closer, and Junhong tries his best to move his hands in front of his face to keep them from grazing Youngjae’s ankles.
He doesn’t want to feel anything right now. He knows how it would feel, knows how horrible Youngjae’s emotions would be mixed with his own, knows the mixture of the two would quite possibly make him want to cry, and he doesn’t want to feel any of it.
“He doesn’t want to hurt him, Youngjae hyung. He really, really doesn’t.”
Youngjae’s silent, looking down at Junhong with pity in his eyes.
And Junhong says, robotic voice and all, “I think I know how you feel, hyung.” Even though he can’t.
Slowly, Yongjae crouches down next to him, and Junhong watches him all the way, scrutinizing every little purse of his lips, every glint in his eyes, and the shake of his head, as he falls--almost hesitantly--into his arms.
After a moment, Junhong feels a hand connecting to his cheek, feels tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and he buries his face into Youngjae’s neck with a sob, because it’s just too much.
“Now you do.” Youngjae says softly, a bitter laugh stuck in the back of his throat, and he squeezes Junhong tighter--bringing him closer into his arms as the youngest breaks down, crying for the both of them.
“Uncle, uncle, uncle!”
“What was that?” Yongguk asks, sitting firmly on Himchan’s chest, triumphant smirk on his face. “Sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Himchan doesn’t know how, but they’ve somehow made it all the way to Himchan’s bathroom.
“Oh, my--uncle.” The younger practically yells, squirming underneath Yongguk’s weight. He can feel sweat on his forehead from running too hard, and he can feel his chest cavity collapsing, and it’s really not fair, because when they were little he always used to beat Yongguk at tag. “Uncle--damn it, Yongguk--get off.”
“What’s the magic word?”
Himchan deadpans him with a look. The older man merely stares down at him, hands crossed over his chest. If Himchan could move his hands, he’d make an airtight shield right over Yongguk’s face. “Now?” The younger suggests, smiling thinly.
“Not exactly what I was looking for.” Almost as if to make a point, Yongguk leans back, butt planted somewhere in Himchan’s stomach.
“Ow?” Himchan growls, attempting to wrench his hands out from underneath Yongguk only to be stopped by warm hands. “Okay, okay, please?”
He can’t help but think about how embarrassing this is, and he silently hopes he doesn’t look completely unattractive, sweat slicking his face, face most likely a blotchy red from the mixed humiliation and exercise.
He just wants Yongguk to get off.
“Hmm, better, but nope. Not really what I was looking for either.”
Himchan gives him a look, and apparently it’s hilarious, because Yongguk only laughs at him. The shield maker doesn’t really think so though. “Then what, pray tell, were you looking for?” He fakes curiosity, fakes nonchalance the best he can with someone crushing his abdomen. “Alacazam?”
“No. Good guess though.”
Himchan puffs a blow of air at his bangs to get them away from his forehead. (He doesn’t need hair sticking to his sweat, thank you very much.) “Oh, I know, how about I’m suffocating to death; get the hell off, you maniac!” More wiggling and squirming. Yongguk laughs at him again.
“Stop whining, I’m not that heavy.”
“Say that to my ribcage!”
“I’m not even anywhere near your ribcage, you big baby.” Yongguk adjusts himself either way though, and Himchan feels tons of pressure being lifted from his lungs. He takes in about ten gulps of air at once for good measure. The older man shakes his head at him, but Himchan’s too happy about the gummy smile on his face to care. “And by the way, I’m still not getting off until you say the special words.”
The younger man rolls his eyes. Feels as if Yongguk’s the one who’s supposed to be the younger one out of the two of them. “Can I at least get a hint?”
Two minutes later, and several horrible attempts charades on Yongguk’s part, the older man finally gives up and tells him. “Baker.” Almost to emphasise his point, he rolls his hands out in front of him, raising his eyebrows high on his head.
Himchan still doesn’t get it. “What is that supposed to be?”
“A rolling pin.” He makes the motion again. Himchan snorts. “Duh.”
“You deserve a medal. Really.”
“Hey, I was trying to communicate using your language.” Yongguk retorts, rolling off Himchan to lie on the floor next to him. The younger man rubs at his stomach.
“I wouldn’t have done it like that.” Himchan tries to deny. A long, hard stare is his only reply. “What, I wouldn’t have.”
“Whatever.”
“I--”
“So, job.” Yongguk cuts him off, turning to lie on his side, elbow propped up, staring down at Himchan as if preparing some kind of casual interrogation.
The giggle-snort that comes out of Himchan’s mouth is completely involuntary. “You look like you’re trying to seduce me.”
Instead of falling backwards like Himchan kind of hoped he would, Yongguk leans a little bit closer, bangs tipped just at the top of his eyelashes, borderline smolder playing on his face. Himchan feels his heart stop altogether. It’s another two point five seconds before it starts again, embarrassingly fast. “Is it working then?” Yongguk says, voice husky, and Himchan bites on his bottom lip. Wonders what the hell they’re doing and if this is just friendly flirting.
(Quietly hopes that it isn’t.)
Just in case that they are flirting (to which Himchan would totally jump for joy at), the younger paints on his best seduction face and prays that the light sweat makes him look more attractive than not. He musters up a musty laugh, and he’s not sure if it affects Yongguk positively, because he’s too busy freaking out to really pay attention. (He suddenly acknowledges the fact that this shit is scary as hell, and he makes a note never to tease Jongup and Daehyun again for having near panic attacks.) “I don’t know; you’ll have to take me to a movie first.”
The smile on Yongguk’s face quirks to the right just slightly, and Himchan has to fight not to scoot closer to him. “No dinner?”
“Who needs dinner when you have a perfectly dark movie theater?”
The smile on Yongguk’s face is completely gone now, replaced by a sudden shocked glint in Yongguk’s eyes. Himchan thinks he’s crossed some sort of line that he wasn’t aware they drew between them. A minute passes, then another, and another. Anxiety pokes at Himchan’s back like a needle. “You’ve gotten way too good at that--fake flirting... thing.” Yongguk coughs out awkwardly.
That’s because it isn’t fake. Himchan feels at a loss.
“I’ll go into town tomorrow.” He says shortly, sighing, feeling somewhat disappointed. “See if the bakery has a position open.”
He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes as he feels Yongguk’s glued to his cheeks.
Himchan wonders if it’s even worth being in love with his best friend.
It’s an established rule, now, that they don’t talk about Daehyun and Jongup (or ‘the puppies’ as Junhong so helpfully suggested after getting over his initial, well-needed breakdown.) Youngjae hopes it’s a good enough solution to the problem for now, because he can’t really think of anything else that’s sensible. (His brain tells him to do other things though. Other things that Youngjae doesn’t even want to say aloud or admit he thought, other things that he tries desperately to ignore, other things that he tries desperately to hide from Junhong.)
Now, the only thing that Youngjae needs to worry about is getting the both of them off the floor.
“Junhong, move.” Youngjae says, and he laughs when Junhong moves closer to him, wrapping his hands around his waist and pressing his face into his stomach. “I didn’t mean move closer.”
“Your stomach’s comfortable.” Junhong replies.
“I try.” Youngjae deadpans, trying not to wiggle away when Junhong props his chin onto the lower part of his waist. “Now get off.”
“Make me.”
“Choi Junhong,” Youngjae begins, giving him a look that he hopes equals zero tolerance. Junhong pouts at him, and he tries not to lose resolve. “I’m asking you to kindly get off. If you don’t within the next few seconds, I will make you.” Youngjae gives Junhong a small look of authority, and he can see the younger weighing his options in the back of his eyes.
When Junhong shakes his head no, Youngjae almost feels bad sweeping a hand over Junhong’s side to tickle him.
There’s this look of shock in his eyes as he tries to squirm away, and he makes this little squeak-shriek sound through high pitched giggles that Youngjae finds a little more than extremely adorable. Youngjae lets him roll out of his grasp with a laugh.
“That so wasn’t cool,” Junhong protests, voice still a little high, “I thought you were going to like hit a pressure point or something to get me off, not tickle me. What the hell?”
“Too much work.” Youngjae explains shortly, through chuckles, and Junhong gives him a glare, because he knows he hates being tickled. Luckily, Youngjae’s the only one, other than Yongguk, who can actually get away with it without being murdered. “Besides, tickling’s more fun anyway. You get all angry and flustered.” As if to prove his point, Youngjae pinches a finger into Junhong’s side, and with a silly howl, the younger twists away.
“You’re not funny.”
“You’re right; I’m hilarious.”
Junhong gives him this unamused frown, and Youngjae only sticks his tongue out as he lifts himself off the ground. The younger stares up at him as he dusts off his pants. “You’re really not funny.” Junhong repeats, pouting, flopping down on the ground as if to prove a point, averting Youngjae’s eyes to stare at the ceiling.
“Whatever.” The genius says, staring down at Junhong, hair splayed messily over his eyes, long arms and legs reaching out in every direction like a star. The muscles on his arms flex as he moves them slightly along the wood of the floor, and Youngjae’s caught, speechless, trying to form words that his head has trouble supplying him.
(Not a second later, it practically sings, ‘Oh my God, you think he’s attractive, don’t you’?
Youngjae significantly pales, feeling sick and afraid at the sound of that voice again.
He thinks he might be going crazy.)
“I can’t move.” Junhong says, helplessly, and Youngjae can’t even worry about him, because the voice in his head is too busy taunting him. (‘Youngjae has a crush. Spell it with me now: c-r-u-s-h.’) “You know what’s funny? Mobility is the first thing to go. You would think emotions first, right? But nope. Physical ability to feel: gone.”
(‘Oh, cry me a freaking river. Boo fucking hoo.’) “You’re starting to sound like me when I’m bored.” Youngjae says, voice a little shaky.
“Help me up?” The youngest offers instead of a reply.
And Youngjae really is about to reach for him, until the voice in his head tells him otherwise. (‘Not a good idea, Youngjae. He can read thoughts on contact, too, can’t he? What happens if he catches a glimpse of little old me? Would you really want your crush to know about your pseudo-schizophrenic tendencies, hm?’) Youngjae snaps his hands away from Junhong’s grasp faster than he can even hear. (‘Thatta boy.’)
“Hey, what gives?”
“Nothing,” Youngjae replies, (‘A little too quick.’) “nothing gives. I just--” (‘Better think fast.’ and Youngjae wants to scream, loud enough to block out any sound.) “I just think you need to learn how to walk yourself. You know, just in case you want to walk around without having to suck up another person’s legs.”
Junhong’s face twists just the slightest until Youngjae can’t even detect a single bit of emotion anymore. (And the voice in his head cackles.) “Harsh.”
Discreetly pressing the pads of his fingers into his temples, Youngjae braves a smile. “Harsh doesn’t even begin to describe me and you know it, Junhong.” Carefully, Youngjae steps his way over to Junhong’s bed, lowering himself onto the edge, keeping an eye on Junhong all the while to make sure he didn’t see. (‘Why do you want to protect him so much?’ Youngjae only ignores it--him. The voice is definitely male.) “Come on, I believe in you.”
From the floor, Junhong blinks, and as he tries to get himself up from the ground, hands flailing around for a surface, trying to get used to the numb feeling of his nerves, Youngjae shakes his head, trying to get rid of the echo beating against his cranium.
The moment Junhong’s feet plants themselves on the ground is the moment the humming disappears altogether, and Youngjae shoots up from the bed, hooking his finger into the belt loop of Junhong’s jeans to keep him from falling backward. “Careful--” He says, voice a little strained, and he silently thanks his head for his fast reflexes.
He catches Junhong’s eyes as he looks up, and without knowing it, the grip that Youngjae has on his jeans tightens. “Thanks.” Junhong blinks, not really sounding relieved, but trying to mean it all the same.
And without either of them knowing it, Junhong tips forward, bumping straight into Youngjae’s forehead.
“Ow--” They say at the exact same time, and Youngjae’s silently thankful the voice is gone, because he finds that he actually really, really likes having Junhong in his arms.
(And Youngjae doesn’t want to think about it, because he knows it’s completely illogical, but he thinks that the voice might be right, and he might like Junhong more than he says he does. He might like him more than a brother--more than a simple sibling--and it’s terrifying, because he’s not over Daehyun yet either, and Junhong’s definitely not over Jongup even though he feels it only a fraction of the time, and Youngjae really doesn’t want to get hurt again.
Why couldn’t love be logical? Why couldn’t the chemical imbalance in the human body be something controllable?)
The two of them collapse on the ground in a fit of laughter with a slight yelp on the tips of their tongues.
And Youngjae chooses then, with Junhong’s neck pressed against his cheek, not to think about it anymore.
Daehyun decides, despite nearly seven years of waiting in a jail cell, that waiting for Jongup to come home is a billion times worse.
(He honestly nearly cries when he hears the click of the door opening.)
With a little squeak that he would later deny, Daehyun zooms to the door, the smile on his face aching, and throws his arms around Jongup’s shoulders with enough force to knock him against the door.
Jongup’s shoulders shake with laughter beneath him, and Daehyun presses his face into the crook of his neck, savoring every little bit of it. Because he has a boyfriend--someone absolutely perfect that he can call his own--and it’s easily the best thing to ever happen to him through all the hell that he’s lived in. He feels hands around his waist pulling him closer, and it easily makes intoxicates him, like a drug. “Is this how I’m going to be greeted everytime I come home now?” Jongup says, voice a little bit distorted himself, muffled against Daehyun’s forehead, lips brushing against skin.
Daehyun pulls away with a nod. Jongup smiles that smile--the one that Daehyun’s come to love--where the corners of his lips practically reach his cheekbones, and he can barely see his eyes anymore, twinkling with pure joy and radiance. Daehyun finds it funny that he still finds it rather hard to breathe around him. “Hi, boyfriend.” The blonde says suddenly, words tumbling off the tip of his tongue, and his face heats up almost instantly.
He takes comfort in the fact that Jongup’s does, too. His smile turns bashful, and Daehyun finds he likes this smile almost as much as he does his normal one. “Hey, boyfriend.”
Daehyun bites at his lips to keep from giggling with glee.
Jongup finds that dating Daehyun is a lot like how it was before and yet different all the same.
First of all, they still talk like how they did before. They tell each other everything and anything that they can think of, and Jongup loves that--he really does.
But it’s different now, because he wants Daehyun to do the talking. It’s not like before, where Jongup could talk about everything that bothered him without worrying about what Daehyun thought or about what Daehyun wanted to say.
Now, he wants to listen. He wants the blonde to complain to him. He wants Daehyun to tell him his entire life story from his birth to the present. He wants to know all of the blonde’s worries and all of his wants so that he can make the worries disappear and all his dreams come true. Jongup wants Daehyun to be comfortable with him, and most of all, he wants him to be happy.
So, while Jongup plays with the blonde’s knuckles, leaning against his chest, that’s exactly what he tells him.
Daehyun’s fingers flush between his hands from a head-to-toe blush when he says it, and it completely amuses Jongup, enough to make him press each finger against his lips mischievously.
“Is anything bothering you right now, Daehyunnie hyung?” Jongup asks, smiling against the blonde’s index finger.
“Uhm.” Other than that particular noise though, Daehyun is silent, and Jongup raises a silent eyebrow, slightly worried.
“What?” He twists against Daehyun, cheek propped against his chest as he tries to look up at his face.
“Post-its?” Daehyun asks, a short and curt explanation.
Jongup pouts, “Oh,” and wiggles back into his original position, “they’re in my book bag.” The younger explains, glancing at the abandoned bag near his door. Almost carefully, Daehyun inches away to get them, and Jongup merely lays his head back again, stopping him, quietly weighing his options in the back of his head. “Can you--” He starts, cutting himself off with a bite to his lip. “can you just talk. Out loud? I really want to hear your voice.”
The flush is back on the palm of Daehyun’s hand and Jongup smiles, wide and bright. “Isn’t that a little risky? I could brainwash you, you know?”
“I know,” Jongup replies easily, fitting the spaces of his fingers into Daehyun’s, “but practice makes perfect, right?” He tilts his head up toward Daehyun, smiling even though he isn’t sure if the blonde can see him. “Maybe if we practice enough, you’ll be able to finally control it.”
Jongup nearly cheers when he feels Daehyun settling back into his original position. “So?” The older boy says, and Jongup loves the sound of a smile in his voice. (Loves the sound of his voice: period.) “What were you saying before?”
Jongup beams up at him.
It’s been a long time, Kibum thinks, since he’s actually set foot in this part of the base.
The base is huge, ten times larger than normal bases, and one hundred times more hidden. “One of the government’s greatest achievements,” he remembers somebody telling him before when he first came here, “it was built a billion years ago, and blah, blah, blah blah blah.” The details are a bit blurry to the young scientist.
“Kibum.” He hears suddenly, and Kibum smiles at the less than friendly face in front of him.
“T.O.P hyung.” Kibum replies, cheerily, and he laughs at the look on the man’s face. Completely blank. As always. “How do you do? Amazing, I assume?”
Choi Seunghyun stands, patiently silent. Kibum waits for him to crack, tilting his head here and there lazily. “You’re here to see Jiyong.” It’s not a question.
Kibum answers anyway. “Yep. Wanted to give him an update on my little chess game.” The smile that he gives Seunghyun is less than innocent. “Considering Seungri hyung is freaking out, I think it’s about time, don’t you?”
As a reply, Seunghyun simply steps away from the doorway, allowing the door he was guarding to slide open easily. Kibum finds himself staring down a less than familiar hallway. “You coming?” All he’s met with is air. “Guess not then...” The scientist trails off, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolls down the hallway.
Within five minutes, he’s met with a dramatically large door, and Kibum, too lazy to actually open it himself, imagines a doppelganger on the other side.
He’s met with the sudden sight of a dark room, Jiyong sitting directly in the center, legs crossed on a throne, looking halfway between cross and bored.
Even Kibum is slightly frightened at the eeriness of it all. “Hello, Jiyong hyung.”
“What do you want, Kibum?” The head of all the government asks; Kibum feels the slightest bit inadequate.
(He hates feeling inadequate.)
“I thought you might want to hear about my plans about the daily troublemakers.” Kibum smirks, but Jiyong looks nothing but uninterested. He’s never been able out figure out why, why he always seems to look like that no matter what he feels. Seungri can say he looks angry, can say he seems intolerable, but all Kibum can see is a shell that sees everything and anything that it wants.
“I suppose this time you actually plan to kill them.” Jiyong sounds unbearably threatening. The sentence translates to a clear, ‘if you don’t kill them this time, you’re dead.’
Kibum smiles, something wicked that probably would have scared anyone else but doesn’t alarm Jiyong in the slightest. “I plan to do more than that, sir. I plan on destroying them--torturing them in the most delightful ways.”
“What have you accomplished so far?”
“I know of their whereabouts.” Kibum says proudly, but there’s not a single hint on Jiyong’s face that indicates that he is too. “And I’ve begun my pursuit on the rook. I plan on making him fall, so that the foundation of the ‘family’ falls with him. He’s surprisingly important despite how crappy he’s treated.” He allows a small, evil smile. “And also easily manipulated.” Kibum glances up at Jiyong again. “It’s their turn once again though, sir, so--”
There’s a distinct darkness in his eyes that sends chills up the spine of Kibum’s illusion.
Then, Jiyong says, voice even and smooth in the cold atmosphere, “So long as the prisoner mutant is in my grasp again, and Choi Junhong and Bang Yongguk are killed by the end of your idiotic game, I don’t care how long it takes.”
Kibum feels a little stunned.
“What’s your next plan of attack?”
Despite the fear in his bones at being in the presence of Jiyong, Kibum smiles, wide and absolutely terrifying.
“Take down the queen to get to the king.”
-----
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