When the skies opened up above him, he was standing out in the open, in the middle of a field. His eyes had been on the grey clouds hanging low in the sky for a while, so when the first drops fell, it came as no surprise. A heartbeat, and then it was pouring. The rain fell heavily onto his shoulders, soaked his clothes and made them cling to his slim form, dark locks sticking to his face and tangling with his eyelashes.

Eyes slipping closed, he let himself feel the rain, the chaos around him reduced to white noise produced by the pitter-patter of the raindrops. Even in this, he could sense it. The tug of movement, like a tide being pulled into the ocean. Powerful. A need to move, settled under his skin even as he remained still in that field, letting the rain wash over him as if it could wash these thoughts and feelings away from him. As if it could make him clean.

The drops of water slid down his cheeks as a replacement for the tears he couldn’t shed. It was a liberty he must do without, and a punishment he justly deserved. One of the many.

Taking a deep breath, the man opened his eyes once more, absently blinking against the raindrops. Then he took a step forward, followed by another, and another.

He needed to keep moving.

~

The train station was deserted, save for that one man on the other end of the platform, who seemed to be more asleep than awake, a woman deeply immersed in her phone somewhere to the left, and Jongdae himself. It was only to be expected, Jongdae mused, it being in the early hours of morning. The sun had not yet awakened, the moon still high on the sky and stars littering the midnight blue canvas.

It was a quiet night.

Jongdae wasn’t usually one for silence, but in the past months, he had slowly grown accustomed to it. His thoughts would carry him away to the past, to when a quiet moment for himself would be almost impossible to obtain. Then, there had been days where he wished for silence, but now he would give anything to get those voices back. Voices, most of which, he hadn’t heard for weeks.

The past was a dangerous place to get caught up in, and yet Jongdae didn’t always have the strength to stay away. Sometimes, it was just irresistible to let go, to let his mind take him back to laughter and shrill voices ringing in his ears.

It had taken no more than a week for him to miss it. He had prided himself in not taking things for granted, but, looking back, there were so many things he hadn’t appreciated before it was too late.

But he wasn’t stuck in the past. Some might disagree, but he would vehemently deny every such accusation. Rather, he was stuck in the future, of what could have been, of what could be.

He was stuck in hope, and clung to it like a lifeline. It was what drove him forward, was what had him sitting at the platform waiting for a train that would take him from Copenhagen to Berlin in the dead of night.

The future was what had had him on the move since those months ago, since that happened. Since their group dissolved and left for every nook and cranny in the world.

Glancing up, the hands on the clock showed that it was nearing four am. His train would be here any second, now. Jongdae stood from his seat and stretched his arms above his head, before letting them fall back down as he shook his legs. He had been sitting for too long, going by the pricking feeling spreading in his limbs.

In the speakers, a woman’s voice was announcing the train’s arrival, and when it was scheduled for departure.

Grabbing his luggage, he boarded the train and went to search for a seat. There were a few more people on the train than on the platform; most were asleep, and those few who weren’t scarcely looked up from their activities. Jongdae found a seat and put his luggage away before sitting down by the window.

His mobile had died an hour earlier, so he fished his charger from his bag and plugged one end in the phone, the other in the closest power source, watching the screen light up as the train left the station. He let the device reboot as he made himself comfortable, finding his earbuds and plugging them into the phone as well.

With music he paid no attention to playing in his ears, he rested his forehead against the cool window, absently watching the scenery fly by in blurred flashes. His own face reflected in the glass; sharp cheekbones, kittenish lips, pale skin. Dark eyes alight with a steely determination.

As the train took him to his next destination, his thoughts took him to his memories.

He had to do this. Not just for himself, but for all of them. He had promised himself he would, sworn it, even if it cost him more than he could pay. And he would never go back on a promise, least of all one he had made to himself. He would do this, even if it took another six months, even if he had to follow the trails to the most secluded of places, only for them to run cold.

Closing his eyes, he was soon fast asleep, memories taking hold of his dreams.

A bright, toothy smile. Pearly laughter.

A scream. Wide eyes. Fear.

Ripples left behind.

~

It was a peculiar emotion, guilt, in how it felt so much like drowning. A heavy feeling in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down. Sometimes, it felt a little like water, flooding his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

Only, this type of pain wasn’t as merciful as drowning, because at least drowning would eventually meet an end. Guilt lingered, and would never quite fade.

It settled deep in his bones, like an itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he scratched. It settled in his heart, and, sometimes, it felt like a hand was closing around the pumping organ. Guilt was a foul taste in his mouth, a constant presence, reminder, in his mind, in everything he did and said. It was a river, tugging him deeper into the current, further away from the ground he had once stood on, where the banks sometimes became more narrow, closing in.

But it was okay. It was alright. The guilt felt like an anchor that he could hold onto and never let go, because it was there to remind him of his wrongs. The guilt reminded him that he was human, that he was still in control, and that, in itself, was a relief.

He was drowning with the emotion, but it was a punishment he justly deserved. One of the many.

He took a step forward, then another, and another.

He needed to keep moving.

~

The café was located in central Berlin, a cosy building in the middle of a street lined with shops selling everything from souvenirs to foods to clothes. The furniture was matched in soft nuances, giving off a homey feeling, natural light streaming in from the windows, a few additional candles standing on the tables.

Jongdae was nursing a mug of coffee in his hands, with the most recent newspaper spread out on the table before him. He had already looked it through, twice, and the last mouthfuls of coffee had long gone lukewarm, almost cold.

Finding what he was seeking wasn’t easy. The traces disappeared like drawings in sand when the waves swept over them. No matter what he did, he was always too late, and he could do nothing but wait for the next clue.

And now, stranded in Berlin, he had to bide his time before he could give chase again.

It was impossible to tell when that would be. There was no solid pattern; they could be weeks apart, or days. It was the reason Jongdae hadn’t had a place to call home for almost half a year.

But he didn’t mind. If just the traces kept showing, no matter how long he’d have to wait, it was alright. If the time came where the traces stopped, he wouldn’t know what to do, because the implications of that were numerous. And of those, only few he liked, and many he feared.

Jongdae glanced down at his coffee, watching the remaining liquid slosh as he swirled the drink thoughtfully. As much as he was okay with waiting, it was also nerve-wracking, because what if there never were another clue?

Shaking himself out of it, Jongdae stood from his seat, leaving the newspaper on the table for the next customer as he went to stand in line. Another coffee, this time to go.

He checked his phone, gaze lingering a moment on the address he’d noted down, and when he had a cup of hot coffee in his hand, he set off for the location.

Minseok’s home.

~

The older man lived roughly thirty minutes from the coffee shop in a less upscale part of the city, a fact Jongdae cared little about (but Minseok probably chose on purpose). What had him wringing his fingers were the many thoughts swirling inside his head, making him hesitate in front of the door separating him from his friend with his hand raised to knock.

But getting second thoughts helped nobody, so he straightened and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Jongdae could hear shuffling from inside, followed by footsteps, and then the door was opened. And despite everything that had happened, Jongdae only needed one look at Minseok before he surged forward, hugging the older man close and burying his face against his shoulder.

There was a chuckle, a hand patting his back. “Good to see you, too, Dae. It’s been too long.”

“No kidding,” Jongdae laughed, pulling away again, but not letting go of Minseok yet. Instead, his hands fell to his triceps, and he opened his mouth – “Oh, wow, have you been working out?”

Momentarily distracted, he made wide eyes at Minseok’s form, feeling the arms that flexed under his touch. Glancing up, he found Minseok looking at him in smug amusement.

“I have,” the older replied, snorting at Jongdae’s quiet awe. “Shut your mouth, or you’ll catch flies. Come on inside.”

“How have you been?” Jongdae enquired as he stepped out of his shoes, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat hook after Minseok closed the door behind him.

Minseok hummed as he beckoned for Jongdae to follow him into the kitchen. “Alright,” he said, before amending his answer, “Well. I’ve been well. Care for a drink? Tea, coffee, beer, water?”

“I’ve had too much coffee.” Jongdae scrunched his nose. “Water’s good.”

He sat down by the kitchen table as Minseok fussed around, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet over the sink and filling them with tap water. Jongdae saw him cooling the liquid before he sat down in front of Jongdae, handing him one of the glasses. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

Jongdae shrugged, eyes dropping to the water in the glass. “Same as usual. You know.”

Silence lingered between them for a moment, before Minseok cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Have you heard from any of the others?”

“I keep in touch with them all,” Jongdae affirmed, aware of Minseok’s avoidance of the implications Jongdae left hanging in the air. “Some more than others. Chanyeol and Baekhyun, mostly. The rest, I talk with as often as I talk with you.”

A wry smile pulled at Minseok’s lips. “Which is to say, not really. We last talked… Was it last month, or two months ago?” He tutted. “You’ve been difficult to get in contact with lately.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jongdae with a light laugh. “I’ll make it a point to call you more.”

The older nodded, seemingly pacified, so Jongdae continued, “How often do you hear from them? How are they?”

Minseok shrugged, playing absently with the silver ring on his finger. It nearly matched Jongdae’s, save the small engraved symbol on the inside. All of the rings varied in that. “Fine. I talk with Yixing at least weekly. He keeps me updated. The rest, I talk with now and then. Oftener than you, that’s for sure.”

Jongdae’s mouth curled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All, except one.”

Minseok stilled, staring at the glass in his hand before putting it to the side. He then looked up, more guarded than he had been minutes before. “Jongdae.”

Mouth forming a straight line, Jongdae tapped his nails against the table, hesitating in the clack clack noise that followed. But in the end, he didn’t heed the warning. “No. I am not going to back down from this.”

Minseok’s jaw tightened. “We have been over this,” he argued. “He is not one of us. He made his choice.”

Tightening his hold on his glass, Jongdae averted his eyes, pursing his lips. “You’re wrong. Hyung, if –”

“Am I?” Minseok cut him off. “Tell me, Jongdae, do you remember what happened that day? Or have you forgotten in this self-imposed mission of yours?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” Jongdae cried, before closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath. Losing his temper would get him nowhere; if anything, it would only make it harder to get Minseok to listen. “Hyung, he’s alone out there, with no one who understands us, or our powers. And he’s… What if something happens, and no one is with him, because you all refuse to acknowledge his existence?”

This time, Minseok was the one to look away with a scowl, hands on the table. “It would be his own fault, Jongdae. He is the one who chose to leave. He is the one who left us behind, not the other way around.”

Jongdae looked closely at the older, frowning. “What, so you would damn him because of a mistake? Because you’re too ing butthurt to forgive him?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

The sound of Jongdae’s hands slamming down on the table as he stood rang loud in the apartment. “He could die, hyung! If I’m too late, if -”

Minseok interrupted him once more before he could finish his sentence, his voice rising sharply, “Have you not stopped to think that maybe he doesn’t want to be found? That this search, this obsession of yours is futile?” His eyes were hard when they locked with Jongdae’s. “He’s not coming back, Jongdae. And maybe, maybe that’s for the best. The moment he abandoned us, he became a stranger.”

The older looked away, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want to see his face ever again.”

Jongdae didn’t speak immediately after that. Instead, he stared at Minseok, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he considered his next words. And when he spoke, he didn’t care enough to hide the hurt in his voice.

“You would really leave one of our own? If it were me, or… Sehun, or… Yixing who left?”

Minseok’s glass clouded with condensation, even if he weren’t touching it. “Out of everyone, Yixing would be the only one justified in leaving. Yixing was the one who was hurt by our leader’s powers, and yet he wasn’t the one who ran. He stayed with us, relied on us, like he was supposed to do. We are one, remember? It’s funny how the one who held onto that phrase the most was the one to throw it all away.”

“I can’t believe you,” Jongdae nearly whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Junmyeon hurt Yixing. I am not denying that. Our leader hurt someone he was meant to protect. And he ran away. Because he’s scared of hurting us more. And you dare, hyung, to abandon him, because he didn’t rely on us when he should have. When he needs our help the most, you turn your back on him.”

Minseok was on his feet faster than Jongdae could blink, and the crash following told him Minseok had just thrown his glass. Raising a shaky hand towards Jongdae, Minseok spoke through gritted teeth, “Don’t you ing turn this on me. I was there. I helped search for him. We all did. And what good did that do in bringing him back?”

“You gave up.”

“He gave up on us first.”

“He didn’t.” Jongdae sniffed. “He gave up on himself.”

Minseok hesitated, watching Jongdae for a moment, before taking a breath. “And by doing so, he gave up on everyone else. You said it yourself. We are one.”

“And that’s exactly why, if someone gives up, the rest shouldn’t give up on him. Because we all know how it is.” Jongdae’s gaze slid towards his own drink, tracing the rim absently. “And I know Junmyeon. Junmyeon won’t be able to let this go, and I fear, I really fear, what that could drive him to do. If this will be the last I hear of him. If he will… He’s alone, hyung.”

“And whose fault is that?” Minseok snapped. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want from us, Jongdae? Even with our powers, we are only human. We can only take so much.”

Jongdae lowered his voice, speaking so quietly that Minseok had to lean closer to catch the words. “Junmyeon is human, as well. And humans cannot be strong all the time.”

Minseok heaved a sigh, dropping back into his seat. “Tell that to Junmyeon, who seems hell-bent on being strong all by himself.”

The younger laid his hands on the table surface, leaning over it, gaze lowered and a derisive smile playing on his lips. “I will tell him. When I find him. Because I will, even if I have no one’s support. I won’t let him fight this alone. I will never let anyone fight anything like this alone.”

He straightened, looking at Minseok. Then he stepped back, giving the older a slight nod. “Thank you for having me over, hyung,” he said, turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

Minseok’s voice was soft, teetering desperate, when he called, “Dae…”

Jongdae halted by the door, hand on the frame. He tilted his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder. He didn’t know what he’d see in Minseok’s eyes if he looked. Anger? Pain? Regret? He didn’t know, and he didn’t find out.

But as angry as Minseok had been, as adamant that he had been that Junmyeon did something wrong, as tough as he was trying to seem, he was just as scared as Jongdae was, as Junmyeon. Afraid that another person would leave his life, that it would be one more person he lost, one more fragment torn from his heart.

“I will call you some other time. Because I won’t let a fight come between us, and I hope you won’t, either.”

He was met with silence, but he waited for an answer. An assurance he needed as much as Minseok had needed this one.

“Never,” Minseok finally promised, tone firm. “You will always have a place here.”

Jongdae exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m glad. See you, hyung.”

He left Minseok in the kitchen, put on his jacket, stepping into his shoes, before he left the apartment. Closing the door silently behind him, he listened for the low click of the lock.

Having known it might come to this, he had been sure to look for some place in advance to crash for the night, and had found a cheap motel within walking distance.

He could use some fresh air. It might help clear his mind, which he needed after this talk with Minseok. The older man would come around. He knew he was just angry right now, but if Jongdae could show him, if he could just find Junmyeon…

Jongdae hoped Junmyeon was alright, wherever he was. He hoped he’d stay alright until he found him.

~

Water was considered cleansing. It made him wonder why he, who had an affinity for water, his element being water, felt tainted. Even with the power he had over water, it couldn’t cleanse him. It couldn’t cleanse his heart, nor his mind. The feelings he held and the thoughts he had washed over him like the water of a small stream, not always overwhelming, but always there, a constant flow. It left him feeling heavy, filthy. Burdened.

He was unworthy of being unburdened, and it was a punishment he justly deserved. One of the many.

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder, if there were a way to utilise the cleansing qualities of his power, just how much it would take to cleanse himself. A gallon? A league? How much would it take to set him free?

He took a step forward, then another, and another.

He must keep moving.

~

Days passed in a blur of black ink on white paper and voices and flashes of colour. Waiting felt like a persistent ache, a constant pressure in his chest, making him sometimes sick with the thought of what if nothing shows up. But he shoved that thought away each time it surfaced, because he wouldn’t allow himself to think such absurd things. He couldn’t just disappear. He would have to come up for air sometimes, and when he did, Jongdae would be ready.

Junmyeon was still out there somewhere, and he was still alone, and he was still suffering. And Jongdae still hadn’t gotten the next trace, rendering him frustratingly powerless. He couldn’t do anything without a lead.

He had already stayed in Berlin for weeks, and while it was most definitely not the longest time he had stayed at one place, it made him more and more restless for each day that went by with nothing. He could only use so many days sightseeing, especially when his heart wasn’t in it, and his mind was constantly trapped in thoughts from months prior.

And he couldn’t seek comfort from Minseok. He didn’t want to act like Junmyeon never existed, but nor did he want to fight with Minseok every time they get together. It frustrated him, and sometimes he just wanted to scream at the sky.

Searching for someone who was doing their best to stay hidden, and feeling like he had no support from people he had called brothers, Jongdae sometimes felt so lost.

Water helped him, however, when he needed something to soothe him, to remind him of why and for whom he was doing this. He couldn’t let Junmyeon down. Not when he had seen the terror on his face as he sunk to his knees, Yixing lying in front of him.

To him, water was a reassurance. It linked him with Junmyeon, he liked to think, even if the other were miles and miles away and of a different mindset about his own affinity. At times like this, with his fingers just barely breaking the surface of the water from the fountain, he wondered if Junmyeon were near water, as well. If he hurt, if he missed them, if he missed Jongdae.

Jongdae missed Junmyeon. He missed the other’s bedazzling smile, sincere and bright, the other’s eyes, always fond and welcoming. He missed the other’s embrace, comforting and familiar, his rich, warm voice. He missed the other’s genuine laughter, maybe the most, because it had started to fade even before Junmyeon left them.

He slid his fingers calmly through the water, sitting on the fountain edge with the afternoon sun warming his back and watching the ripples spread out, bouncing off the stone walls that contained it.

Jongdae really, really missed Junmyeon.

With a sigh, he sat up straighter, squinting up at the sun before taking off down the path. He didn’t know what to do now. Should he continue walking around aimlessly, or should he perhaps call Minseok? It had been more than a week since their last talk, and that time they’d walked on eggshells to avoid aggravating the other. Jongdae didn’t want that. He didn’t want this hesitant –

His phone buzzed in his pocket, ringing out a melody, and he fumbled slightly before accepting the call and lifting it to his ear.

“Baek?”

“Yo,” came Baekhyun’s voice. “I am going to skip the formalities, because I know you’re feeling ty, and instead go straight to the matter at hand. There’s been another flooding, this time in Marseilles.”

Jongdae’s heart skipped a beat or five. Definitely not healthy, that was for sure, but he couldn’t care less. “Marseilles? Isn’t that in France?”

He could literally hear Baekhyun rolling his eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. It’s on the news right now, and people are dumbfounded, because no one had seen it coming.” There was a pause. “As of now, there are no causalities.”

Jongdae’s shoulders sagged with the weight of his relief. Each time he heard of a new flooding, he prayed to whatever deity was up there that it would take no lives. So far, no one had died in these sudden floods, and Jongdae was certain it was because Junmyeon still had some control, staying somewhere away from civilisation, but if news one day spread that someone had lost their life…

Jongdae didn’t want to think of that. He didn’t want to think about what it could do to Junmyeon if he knew his lack of control had killed someone innocent.

“You are in Lyon, aren’t you?” Jongdae breathed, changing direction and setting a faster pace. He had to get back to the motel he was currently staying at and get his things.

“Lyon is three hours from Marseilles, Dae,” Baekhyun sniffed. “I cannot go.”

“You’re the closest,” insisted Jongdae, something akin to desperation seeping into his words. “I can’t get there in time. You know I can’t.”

“Dae, I  don’t even know where to begin,” Baekhyun retorted. “You know your bond with Junmyeon gives you the highest chance of success. It has to be you.”

“I’m in Berlin,” Jongdae stressed, narrowly avoiding walking straight into a couple, who looked slightly miffed after him when he didn’t stop to apologise. “I have to be close to sense him. He’ll be gone by the time I get there.”

There was a short pause on the other line. Then, “Call Jongin.”

Jongdae took in a large gulp of air, eyes slipping closed for a moment. “Baek…”

“No, you’re not pulling that on me now,” Baekhyun snapped. “The flood happened not ten minutes ago, but no one can get there before the tracks run cold. No one but Jongin, and you know this.”

When Jongdae kept quiet, Baekhyun heaved a sigh, and continued, “Dae, this is the closest you’ve been. You can get to him in time, if you only get Jongin’s help. Please, at least try. It’s been so long. Jongin might be ready to listen.”

Jongdae hesitated, worrying his bottom lip as he weighed his options. “You think so?”

“It’s better to try than to let him slip away again,” Baekhyun countered, before sighing. “Find Junmyeon, and bring him back.”

Jongdae pinched the bridge of his nose, halting outside his motel door. “Right. Alright. I’ll call him. Text or call me if anything changes,” he said, waiting for Baekhyun’s affirmative before hanging up and finding Jongin’s contact, pressing Call.

Pushing his way inside his room, he started packing his scarce belongings, phone against the ear as he listened to the rings. He had to do something with his hands, had to busy himself somehow, and figured he might as well pack, just in case Jongin refused to help him.

“Pick up, pick up…” he muttered, grabbing the dirty clothes from the bed and tossing them into the hardly unpacked suitcase.

A click, then, and someone spoke. “Jongdae hyung?”

“Jongin,” Jongdae breathed, relief welling up in him. “I need your help.”

There was a pause on the other end, before Jongin cautiously asked, “With what?”

Jongdae hesitated, turning the words over in his head as he worried his bottom lip. “Look… I know this is sudden and all, but you’re the only one who can help.” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for Jongin’s possible refusal. “I need you to get me to Junmyeon.”

“No,” Jongin immediately retorted, sounding distressed. “No, Jongdae, I can’t.”

“Please.” Jongdae grasped the phone tighter, closing his eyes. “Please, Jongin. He’s out there, and for the first time, I have a chance at finding him before the trail runs cold. I’m so close.”

“You know I don’t transport more than myself anymore,” whispered Jongin. “You know I hardly use my power now.”

“You must.” Jongdae in another breath. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t get to him soon. I need your help. It’s urgent. I know you prefer not going anywhere by means of transporting, but please. Just this once. Help me save Junmyeon.”

Jongin was quiet for a bit, but with his next words, Jongdae allowed himself to hope. Jongin was starting to cave. “Jongdae hyung… If I don’t have an exact location…”

“If he still has the ring, you can follow it,” Jongdae quickly pointed out, twirling his own ring around his finger as he spoke. “He’s currently in Marseilles. And if you can get that close, I can get us the rest of the way.”

“I haven’t tried to feel the connection for months, hyung,” Jongin muttered. He sighed. “There’s no guarantee I’ll even be able to feel him at all.”

Jongdae knew that, but he couldn’t let a maybe stop him. “If you can’t, then… Then that’s alright. You tried. But I must go after him, so you can try, can’t you?” Jongdae bit his lower lip, voice coming out strained with his next words, “I’m begging you.”

Jongdae thought, with Jongin’s silence, that the younger would end up refusing in the end. But instead, he heard a sharp exhale.

“Where are you?”

“You’ll help?” Jongdae whispered.

“Yes. But where are you? Send me your location, and I’ll come and get you. Find out where we need to go, as well, and we’ll be there within minutes. See you, hyung,” he said, and hung up, leaving Jongdae to stare at his phone for a long moment before jumping to action.

Baekhyun had already sent the coordinates in a text, the closest guess he had to where Junmyeon might be in the city, and Jongdae couldn’t help but snort. It seemed Baekhyun had trusted Jongin where Jongdae hadn’t.

He typed out his location and the coordinates in a message and sent it to Jongin, and then he could do nothing but wait once more, pacing the room in his distress. There was something urging him on, a feeling in his gut that wouldn’t settle. Like the pull of the tide as it retreated from the beach.

The moment someone knocked on the door, Jongdae was there, greeting Jongin with a flash of a smile before letting him inside.

“You look tired,” Jongin said softly instead of a greeting, eyes finding the suitcase beside the bed, and the bag atop it. “Are you bringing your luggage?”

Jongdae shook his head. “No. I just… wanted to be sure.”

Jongin seemed to understand, nodding slightly. Then he focused his gaze on Jongdae. “Are you ready?”

At Jongdae’s affirmative, Jongin nodded once more before drawing a slow breath, reaching out to lay a hand against Jongdae’s arm. Jongdae gave him a curious look, because there had been a time where Jongin didn’t need physical contact to transport others. It was one of the last things Junmyeon had helped him with in training, and the day he did it for the first time, he had gone around to everyone in excitement, asking if he could try to move them small distances.

When Jongin caught the look Jongdae sent him, he looked away, frowning. “I have been out of practice for a long time. I’m not sure if my powers can support the lack of touch right now.”

The older man only nodded in understanding, watching as Jongin closed his eyes to focus.

Jongdae blinked, once, twice, thrice, and with a lurch in the pit of his stomach, they were no longer in Jongdae’s motel room, but in what seemed like a house with sparse furnishing. The house would have looked abandoned, except for the clothes that sat folded on the couch, and the suitcase in the corner.

“I think he’s still here, somewhere,” Jongin voiced, and Jongdae turned around to find the younger holding up a ring. Junmyeon’s ring.

“If he still has it, even here, I reckon that, yes, he’s still around. He hasn’t left yet,” Jongdae breathed, looking around for any sign of Junmyeon’s whereabouts. “Search this place. Maybe he’s still inside.”

With a nod, Jongin ran out of the room whilst Jongdae continued in another direction, noting papers scattered on the coffee table, though he quickly deemed them irrelevant to his search. He went into another room, and another, but Junmyeon was nowhere to be found, and he had left no clues as to where he had gone.

It frustrated Jongdae that Junmyeon was so close, yet so far.

Calling out for Jongin, he got an answer leading him back to the living room. But when he entered, Jongin wasn’t there, so he frowned and continued through to the hallway, where he saw the front door was open.

“Jongin?” he asked.

“Hyung,” came Jongin’s answer from outside, and Jongdae moved to follow him out.

“Did you find –” The words died on his lips the moment he stepped outside, eyes gradually growing wider with what he saw.

Death. They were surrounded by death. The trees around them were blackened, crumbled dark leaves on the ground, wilted plants. Everything around them had been drained of life. Of water.

“This…” Jongin whispered, eyes wide as he took in the sight. “Junmyeon… Junmyeon hyung did this, didn’t he?”

“The air is dry, as well,” Jongdae observed quietly, looking at the lightning he had summoned crackling between his fingers. It was so easy. “I… I think his control has slipped even more.”

A weak noise left Jongin, sounding worryingly close to a whimper, and Jongdae quickly shook himself out of his reverie.

If he focused, he could feel it. That tug of a bond between Junmyeon and him, water and electricity always producing a tingling sensation in his hands, a tightness in his chest. He could feel it all, but it was weak, and he didn’t know whether that was because it had been such a long time, or because he was still far away. But the feeling in his chest was still there, stronger than it had been for months, and it left him almost short of breath. But with it came something else, something darker. It was ridiculous, this sudden sense of foreboding, but something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong, he was sure of it, and he had to find Junmyeon right now.

When the pull finally oriented itself, he didn’t hesitate in following.

He set off in a sprint, not waiting for Jongin, but knowing, by the surprised shout and following footsteps, that the younger man had caught chase.

He had to find Junmyeon.

~

When he had run his course, run as far as he could go like water moving inland until it reached an end, Junmyeon found himself in Marseilles. There, he found an isolated building to temporarily call home, and there he settled for however long this stay would last. But what he hadn’t known when he had first arrived was that this would be the last place he fled to, because it’d end here.

For him, this was his still water. The place where all of his running had led him to, and where he would be brought to a halt.

In Marseilles, he reached his limit. He was tired of constantly fighting to regain the lost connection with his water, tired of denying himself any form of salvation, of release, and of running. The tightness in his chest, the frail hope that had refused to leave even to this point, that something would change, it was all too much. Self-imposed as it was, being alone had taken its toll on Junmyeon, and he had finally come to accept the fact that perhaps he wasn’t meant to be pursued by the others. He wanted it to end. He didn’t want this anymore.

But the heavens only laughed at him, calling him a fool for thinking he could ever be free. After all, this was all because of him.

Even with the disconnection, there still were moments where he could feel the water, and when disaster was brewing, preparing to strike, he’d know. But he’d be unable to stop it. He could only run to faraway places and pray for the flood to happen away from civilisation, pray that no lives were taken.

And each time, the thought of someone dying because of him sent him into a state of mind-numbing dread, where he’d collapse somewhere and curl into a ball to focus, to try to gain control over his element. He’d urge the flood away from people, would push to make it slow down, would do everything in his power to bend it to his will. It never did abide him completely, but he had been able to regain some control, and to his knowledge, no one had died.

When he had assured no one had suffered death for his mistakes, he would pack his belongings and flee, driven by fear that someone would find him and he’d end up unwillingly hurt them. At a new place, he would feel more at ease for a short while, and he’d linger at the hope once more, only for everything to repeat.

But with time, the floods listened less and less to him, and his fear grew, along with desperation and grief and a sense of hopelessness that, gradually, settled in his bones, as though it had always been there. And the more frantic he became, the less he controlled. The realisation that there was nothing he could do, the sneaking suspicion that his element was lost to him forever, left him nauseous and on the brink of tears, but he never gave in.

His tears were his. He decided when to let them spill, and for how long. His tears were the only thing left that he had any sense of control of, now, and he would be damned if he let that go, too. No, he would not cry, because crying helped no one.

Something changed in the days up until the flood washed over Marseilles, something that stole all his energy and left him with a wish to just lie down and sleep his life away. When he learned what it was, the flood was already in the air, and he had been horrified to behold the destruction he had caused, namely to the area closest to him. Plants that had once been green with life were now black with death, every ounce of water drained from their being.

He hadn’t felt it until it was too late, this time. He hadn’t sensed it until it was already there, already upon him. And the gravity of that fact, that he would not realise his own powers building, struck him hard. Seeing the damage he was capable of brought him to his knees, air caught in his throat as he was forced to recognise just what his incompetence had resulted in.

He was a murderer. If he were allowed to continue like this, he would soon take away everything living. He was the destroyer of nature, the murderer of humans and animals. Though he hadn’t taken a person’s life yet, he knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time.

He was death.

And as the flood hit Marseilles, he remained crumbled in the doorway, eyes unseeing even as he stared at the death he had unknowingly left in his wake.

Terror paralysed him, even if his hands shook, nausea threatening to force its way out of his throat, but then –

But then, like the water before a storm, Junmyeon was calm, still. He was numb to the fear, because now, he realised with a striking clarity as he stumbled to his feet, he knew what had to be done.

To purify the water, the dirt must be removed. That was what Junmyeon should do, too.

Walking through the forest - dark, though the sun had hardly settled - he let his senses guide him. He didn’t know for how long he walked, but when he finally arrived, an empty smile graced his features. The foliage around him remained lush and green, untouched by civilisation. Or Junmyeon.

The inground pool looked more like a ruin, with cracks in the concrete created by weeds forcing their way through the cement. Junmyeon slowly moved forward, stepping into the pool and walking as far down as he could go, and there he settled with his back against the concrete.

Reaching forward, he grasped one of the weeds, a yellow flower, and plucked it before he realised what he was doing. Drawing a deep breath, anticipation for what was to come filling his senses, he looked at the weed, saw how it slowly curled in on itself in his hand, crumbling as he stole its life away. Black crawled along the stern and the leaves, frail, dried petals taken away by the gentle breeze.

When he let out the breath, the weed was dead in his palm.

He had hardly felt any surge of his water, that time, a mere bubbling under the surface. And yet here was the proof. The root of this evil was him. He was the dirt in the water, the thing that left it impure, unable to sustain life. He should be taken away. If that were how it should be, he thought, then so be it.

If that were how he could save the ones he loved, and the ones who deserved better, he would have no regrets.

~

The water came crashing down around him, along with the weight of what had just happened. Yixing fell with it, dropping to the ground like a ragdoll, and Junmyeon’s breath caught in his throat when he didn’t move.

Yixing shouldn’t have gone after him. They all knew Junmyeon would sometimes get overwhelmed, would need to take a moment for himself to shake off the tension in his shoulders. Junmyeon had left to get some air, to calm down, and he hadn’t wanted anyone to follow him. He would only need a minute, and he’d rather no one see this side of him. But Yixing, sweet, caring, stupid Yixing had come out to make sure he was alright, and Junmyeon had –

He was their leader. He was their leader, and he had sworn to protect them. And he had failed. He knew how hard it was for him to keep composure when he was stressed. He should have left before something like this could have happened. He should have left the moment he realised he was losing control over his element, but he was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to lead them. But losing control didn’t happen to someone who was strong enough, and yet…

And yet, when Yixing had come to find him, he had been desperately, fearfully, trying to get a hold of his powers, but he had already been too lost, and when he had noticed Yixing’s presence, it was too late.

Yixing had stood no chance against the onslaught of water that appeared out of thin air. Junmyeon had been forced to watch Yixing’s mouth open in a scream, only to choke on the water pressing into him from all sides, crushing him. No matter what Junmyeon did, no matter how loud he screamed, he couldn’t feel the water, couldn’t force it to retreat, couldn’t save his own friend.

Then, the tug was back, and Junmyeon took the control given to him. As suddenly as the water had come, it stopped.

A splutter from Yixing snapped Junmyeon’s attention back to him, and he watched, horrified, as Yixing hacked up water, hands clawing at the ground as he attempted to push himself up with shaky arms. There was no strength left in him, however, and so he only collapsed again, more water forcing its way out of his lungs.

Junmyeon tore his gaze away. He couldn’t bear to meet the other’s eyes, to see the gentle warmth replaced with fear. He had hurt Yixing, had almost killed him, oh God. The realisation struck him to his core, and had him choking back a terrified sob.

At the sound of approaching feet pounding against the floor, distant voices calling out both his and Yixing’s name, Junmyeon fell to his knees. He gave a sharp cry, curling his fingers into fists and hitting the cold, wet ground.

He closed his eyes against his tears, shaking his head as he took rapid, shallow breaths. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve that release.

Yixing was right to fear him. They should all fear him, should all hate him and wish him gone. The guilt that tore at him would never be enough, would never redeem him for what he had done, for what he could have done, what he would have done had he been incapable of reclaiming dominance over his element.

What would happen if it spun out of control again?

When a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, he recoiled violently, drawing away from the touch. He scrambled to get back on his feet, glancing up to see who had dared approach him.

Minseok. And Jongdae was behind him. Junmyeon couldn’t meet either’s eyes, hands fidgeting at his sides as he fought back tears.

Looking behind the two, he saw the rest by Yixing’s side, Kyungsoo patting his back as Baekhyun held his face, saying words Junmyeon couldn’t hear from where he stood.

“Hyung,” said Jongdae quietly. Junmyeon flinched, taking another step back. The younger’s voice was hesitant, and the hand he had lifted, as though wanting to reach out, fell back against his side.

He didn’t try to approach Junmyeon, either, for fear of his powers unravelling again. No one dared come closer. And that was how it should be.

“Stay away,” Junmyeon whispered, stumbling further back and shaking his head.

“Junmyeon,” Minseok said firmly, stepping forward, but Junmyeon held out a hand to stop him.

“Stay away from me!” he screamed, grasping at air before forcing his hand back down. “I can’t… I don’t…”

“Hyung…” That was Jongin’s voice, and tremors tore through Junmyeon’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, backing away, one step at a time. And then he was running.

They were calling out for him, pleading for him to stop, but Junmyeon drowned out their voices.

He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t trust his element, couldn’t risk their lives. The image of Yixing was engraved in his mind forever, horror etched into every inch of his expression as water stole the breath from his lungs. Water Junmyeon hadn’t been able to control. He didn’t want his last memories of them be ones where their eyes remained closed.

So he did what he had to do.

He ran.

~

He wanted the water to take him away.

The sudden surge of connection he felt then did nothing but soothe his heart. Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back against the wall of concrete, relief flooding his system. Having finally cleared his mind, the feeling of control was a salvation in itself, even if what it took to reach this point was understanding this control could never fully be his. His water would finally set him free.

But never had he imagined his water would be what took him away from this life.

The strength of the flood took him aback, even if he had anticipated it. Mouth falling open in a gasp, water immediately rushed between his lips, invading his nose. His body fought it, tried to breathe, but with no air to fill his lungs, he began to choke on the water rushing in. Instinct had him thrashing, fingers clawing at the water, seeking something to anchor himself to, fighting to get up, away, to get air. He needed air.

He was dying, his breath stolen, ripped from his chest. His eyes flew open, but he was already too gone to notice the slight burn as he looked around. It was surreal, knowing he was dying, his body resisting, and yet his heart and mind were soothed. After months upon months, he was at peace.

Junmyeon kept looking even as his sight blurred, his system shutting down. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. In the silence below the surface, the only thing left was the deafening beat of his heart. Slowing. Tuning out.

Absently, he felt something grab the back of his shirt and yank.

Dying was so much easier than living, and coming back from that death was much harder on his body than it had been to greet it. Every inch of his torso throbbed with the strain of trying to get air, the ache spreading into his limbs that laid heavily by his side. A loud voice was threatening to tear his eardrums apart, and he was being shaken, hands on his shoulders and chest and face and throat. Junmyeon was aware enough to realise he was no longer under water, and the thought made him wince weakly, because no, no one was supposed to be here. Not now. Not when he was this close.

His limbs still felt like lead. He couldn’t lift his arms to push away whoever was there, could barely lift a finger. Even blinking his eyes open was almost too strenuous, but when he saw the blurred sight of an anguished face above him, he choked on the breath he’d been desperate trying to hold.

“Breathe,” Jongdae was saying, despair lacing his words, “ing breathe.”

Why did he come for him now? Why now?

“Junmyeon.”

And then everything came crashing down. He lurched, rolled onto his side, hacking up water as his body trembled, whether from cold or shock or something else entirely, he didn’t know. Hands closed around his biceps, and Junmyeon fought them, fought Jongdae even as his lungs continued to push the water out of his airway with violent, awful retches.

Like the traitor it was, his chest heaved, taking breath after breath and pushing the numbness away, until everything hurt. How was this fair? He had been so close to feeling no pain, only to be thrown back into it once more.

And this time, there was someone else there who could hurt, too. Who Junmyeon could hurt, if he weren’t careful, if he weren’t composed.

“Let me go, let me go, Jongdae, let me go,” Junmyeon cried, once his vomiting had been reduced to weak coughs. Jongdae’s only response was pulling Junmyeon into his lap, throwing his arms around his middle and holding him close.

With tears b in his eyes, Junmyeon’s gaze fell to the grass around them, and then the plants, all blackened, the life drained out of them. Terror tore through him, and he thrashed in Jongdae’s hold, exhaustion pulling at his limbs as he released a shrill scream, “Jongdae!”

“Junmyeon, please –”

“You ruined it,” Junmyeon sobbed, and he didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the tears now streaming down his face or angry at himself for losing that last bit of control. It had been so long since he had cried, but he knew there would be no stopping these now that they had started. “I, I was supposed to –”

“You tried to kill yourself!” Jongdae cried, and Junmyeon stilled momentarily, shocked at the raw emotion in Jongdae’s words, before he continued to fight the younger’s hold, back arching as his feet pushed against the ground.

“Why?” Jongdae asked, words cutting through the air between them. “Why? Didn’t you stop to consider what that would do to us, when we found out?”

“I have to,” insisted Junmyeon, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the drops of water still on his skin. “If I’m gone, everyone -”

“Shut up,” Jongdae growled, adjusting his hold on Junmyeon with a grunt when Junmyeon’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Dying is never the answer.”

Junmyeon let out a sob, clawing at Jongdae’s hands until Jongdae laced their fingers together and squeezed.

“If I were gone -” Junmyeon started with a small voice, but Jongdae didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t you get it?” Jongdae sounded suspiciously choked up, and more tears welled up in Junmyeon’s eyes without his consent when Jongdae continued. “We don’t want you gone. We never did. But you didn’t let us help you.”

Junmyeon’s voice caught in his throat, and he whimpered as he fell still in Jongdae’s arms. His chest heaved painfully, and his throat felt dry even after swallowing so much water. “I hurt Yixing,” he cried softly, “and I could’ve hurt more of you – I can still -”

He made to start thrashing once more, but Jongdae held him tightly and turned him around in his arms so that he could grasp Junmyeon’s jaw and look into his eyes.

“No,” he said, words gentle, yet firm, “you won’t hurt us. Stop running, Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon took in the other’s appearance; dark circles under his eyes, unclean skin, tired lines in his face. Still, the warmth in his brown orbs, the lack of fear, just concern, was what broke Junmyeon’s resolve. He fell apart in Jongdae’s arms, pushing his face into Jongdae’s shoulder as he screamed, hands grasping at the younger’s jacket. Jongdae was solid, his arms soothing, comforting, and Junmyeon let himself cry.

Jongdae hadn’t given up on him.

Holding him tightly, Jongdae let him cry until his tears had dried up, until his sobs had been reduced to soft sniffles. Only then did Junmyeon lift his head from Jongdae’s shoulder, and that was when he found Jongin, who was standing back, eyes red-rimmed like Junmyeon’s own would be by now. Jongin had his arms around himself, looking pitiful as his eyes searched Junmyeon’s face.

Junmyeon hinted no fear in Jongin’s expression, so he reached a heavy hand forward, to assure the other, and even if he were still shivering and soaked to the bone, Jongin threw himself forward at the gesture. Junmyeon managed to free himself from Jongdae’s hold in time to accept Jongin’s embrace, the younger falling to his knees in front of him as he cried, a broken “Hyung” dropping from his lips, followed by apologies and pleas for forgiveness.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Junmyeon assured the moment there was a pause in the outpour of words, tightening his hold on the younger. “It was my fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I did,” Jongin sniffed. “We all did. Jongdae hyung was the only one, who… I was just so angry, hyung, but only at first. I didn’t understand why you left, why you thought we would want… It hurt.”

Junmyeon’s heart broke at the sound of the man’s words, knowing his choice to leave - a protection, in his mind - had done more harm than good. It was ironic that the very pain he was trying to avoid was caused by what he thought was best.

“I want you to come back,” Jongin pleaded, words smothered into his collarbones. “Hyung, you need to come back with us.”

Junmyeon hesitated, leaning out of Jongin’s embrace to cast a glance at the destruction around them, biting his lip in thought. Jongdae must have seen the reluctance, must have noticed the tension that had begun to creep into Junmyeon’s shoulders once more, and did what he had always done. Provided the distraction Junmyeon needed.

“Hyung,” came the other’s soft voice, and Junmyeon looked to the side at Jongdae, who had taken off his jacket and thrown it over his arm. “Take off your shirt. You’re freezing. We can’t risk you catching hypothermia.”

He paused, grimacing at the tremors that rolled through Junmyeon’s frame. “We need to take you to Yixing, as well, to make sure there is no lasting damage.”

Yixing. He couldn’t face Yixing. Surely, the other would hate him, would look at him with fear and demand he stay away. Junmyeon had no right to approach him, least of all ask for his help.

He shook his head at Jongdae, trying to convey his thoughts when words failed him, hoped it would show in his expression. But Jongdae only frowned and reached out to place a soothing hand on Junmyeon’s elbow.

“Yixing would never wish to see you fall sick when he could have prevented it,” Jongdae assured gently, adding, “He doesn’t hate you. He’d never hate you. He understands.”

“I…” Junmyeon cleared his throat, glancing between them as Jongdae helped him out of his shirt. Junmyeon let him, hissing quietly at the biting wind on his skin when the shirt was pulled over his head. “I can’t… I can’t be around Yixing. I can’t be around anyone, not when my –”

“We’ll help,” Jongin urged, moving forward to run his hands over Junmyeon’s arms once Jongdae had helped Junmyeon into his jacket. Jongdae and Junmyeon were about the same size, so it fit snuggly. “I promise, hyung, we’ll help. We’ll find the others, and then we can be together again. Everyone will help.”

“Find them?” Junmyeon inquired softly. The last hour had been physically and mentally exhausting on him, and he was starting to feel the aftereffects. And he was still cold and longed for warmth, though the jacket helped keep out the chill.

Jongin was quiet, so Jongdae took the cue, throwing his arms around Junmyeon again and pulling him back against his chest, sharing his body heat with the older. “A few months after you left, we split up,” he explained, grabbing Junmyeon’s hands and lacing their fingers together. A welcome warmth, when his words had left Junmyeon’s chest feeling cold. “Too much had happened, and we didn’t know how to hold ourselves together any longer.”

“But if you came back,” Jongin started, ever hopeful, “we could fix that. We could be a family again, right?”

It was times like these where Junmyeon had always admired Jongin’s idealistic youth. He spoke of this as if Junmyeon could just walk back into their lives, as if he could be the glue to fix their group, when the reality of the situation was he had been the break in the first place. Emotions were messy. And all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn’t guarantee Junmyeon would be welcomed back, nor would it guarantee it would ever be the same. He could lose control again. Any of them could. The thoughts he had dwelled upon for months surged forward, and when he spoke, it was in a broken whisper, full of fear.

“What makes you think me coming back will solve anything?”

Junmyeon felt Jongdae’s chest heave under him, before he heard the soft exhale. “I won’t lie to you, hyung. Some are still hurting, and they’re angry, and that’s what they’ll show you, when we find them. But, more than anything, they are scared, not of you, but for you. They may not all admit it, but everyone is concerned for you.”

Concerned. Junmyeon didn’t know if he readily believed that. Not when he could still see the horror in Yixing’s expression. Not when he could still feel the tension from when all of this had first happened. And perhaps that was because he wasn’t sure he would be able to feel concerned if he were in their place, if it had been another to lose control. Would he have been afraid? Would he have resented them? He wanted to think he was strong enough to be understanding, but he wasn’t so sure he was. And he could never hold them accountable for their reactions if he himself had been unwilling to show that same understanding to them.

But even if he weren’t certain he believed it, he wanted to. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted someone to find him, someone to tell him things would be okay, maybe not now, but that they would be with time. But Jongdae pulling him out of the water was much more than making sure he survived. It was giving him a reason to live. It was showing him that despite every single detail that pointed to him being unwanted, someone needed him. Jongdae needed him. Jongin needed him.

And, he hoped, the others would need him as well, in their own way, with time.

Junmyeon snuggled closer to Jongdae, burying his face against his chest and taking comfort in the sound of the other’s steady heartbeat.

“We’ll help,” Jongin repeated, as Junmyeon allowed his eyes to fall closed, “like you helped me.”

“Just trust us,” added Jongdae softly, and Junmyeon took a shuddering breath.

Junmyeon was still afraid. He feared what could happen if he failed them once again, if he failed to keep those around him safe. But he was beginning to realise that safety was not one-sided. If he were to keep the group protected, he in turn had to allow them to protect him as well. He had to trust them enough to let them in. So even if he were still terrified, if he stayed here and let his friends help him, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with it alone, and that was a heavy burden taken from his shoulders.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore. Maybe it was time he let someone else be the strongest. Maybe it was time he let someone else have the control.

He tried to think of a way to say that, but he didn’t have the words. Instead, he pushed his face further into Jongdae’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Jongdae tightened his hold, pulling Junmyeon as close as he could possibly get, as if to hold him together by his strength alone.

“Sleep, Jun,” Jongdae murmured, the fingers of one hand reaching up to card through Junmyeon’s damp hair. “I’ll take care of you.

“I promise.”

Thanks a bunch for reading! I hope it was to your liking!

Huuuuuge thanks to MegLee06, my beloved beta and nightingale, for helping me with this! I owe her the remaining pieces of my heart <3

If you have questions, ask away and I’ll answer. Also, if you catch any typos neither Meg nor I have caught, or have other forms of constructive critique, please let me know so I can edit and improve my writing! English is not my first language. Also, I really, really love comments <3

I think that's it for now. (Shameless self-advertisement: I have a Krisyeol in a vampire setting almost written, so if you fancy that pairing and au, be on the lookout!)

Until whenever, lovely readers!