Jonghyun clutched his arm and struggled to breathe.   The wound wasn’t huge, but the blood dripping through his fingers was making him feel almost nauseous, the thick scent like that of iron. He whimpered in pain, exhausted, as he tucked himself behind the rubbish he'd found – various cardboard boxes and old, spewing bins down a darkened alleyway – and prayed to God that he'd finally lost them.   His arm felt rigid as he held it, the pain causing him to grit his teeth. It hurt to move the dagger-inflicted ligament, and it seemed to bleed extensively, like each blood cell was a military deployed soldier, working on tearing his arm to shreds. The strong scent of the blood shrouded the wretched stink of the alleyway, and the wound gave him such a burning sensation that even as the wind whispered he felt no cold. He was also sheltered partially by the cardboard boxes that hid him, shielding him as he shivered.   He was scared. He didn’t want to die, and he believed whoever had pursued him had wished him dead. Jonghyun knew what he'd told Taemin, what he'd mentioned about wanting to end his own life, but as he sat, hugging himself closely like a young child would, he was reminded of why he was living. He supposed he hadn’t had the flashback experience whilst running, of his life playing before his eyes, but as he'd snuck into the alleyway, he'd certainly had the poignant strike of regret.   He'd fallen beneath the rubbish with four people on his mind, four people he didn't expect to be at the forefront of his thoughts before his death, but four people he held the most regrets towards:
Kim Kibum, Choi Minho, Lee Taemin, and Lee Jinki.   He'd expected to be plagued by thoughts of close family, and at first had been confused, until realising those four men... They ​were family, even if not blood-bound. They were the best family a man could ever ask for, the closest family a man could ever get, and yet he'd lost them. He'd ed up, and he regretted it. He regretted it all.   As a tear slid down Jonghyun’s cheek, he heard voices enter the alleyway.   “He's gotta be somewhere,” murmured a strong voice, “he can't have gotten far.”   “He's a quick little ,” muttered the criminal counterpart. “I almost thought I'd done him real damage with that knife.”   “You're lucky you didn't, we need him, alive, dickhead.”   “Well, you think I want to kill him?”   Their footsteps approached the mountain of trash and Jonghyun held his breath, quivering uncontrollably.   “He's probably not down here,” murmured the first speaker, the man with the deepest voice, “it's a dead end, he's not that ing stupid.”   “Didn't say he was, but he mightn't have known.”   “It's kinda obvious.”   “He was running away from us, I doubt he stopped to check!”   Their footsteps faded as they continued down the alleyway almost blindly. Jonghyun considered sneaking out and darting into the night before they turned back, though figured it posed too much of a risk; they'd passed him already, and it was unlikely they'd stop to check on the way back either. He was safe. Safe, so long as he remained silent.   His thoughts flashed to Taemin suddenly, and the familiar guilt began to multiply within him. He'd left Taemin, he'd ran, because he was a coward. He knew Taemin was in danger, yet he hadn’t looped back, hadn’t fought past his pursuers, to reach him. He just prayed they'd come with the intention of catching him, and him only. Taemin was hidden by a mask – that had to be enough.   It'd been stupid, really. The glares and misconceptions from the charity gathering had pushed Jonghyun into strolling outside for fresh air, to clear his mind and think. To think about the way the stars kissed the night sky and how he missed watching them, as it was a hobby of his, a hobby he indulged in with Kibum. Usually they couldn’t be seen given the harsh glow of the metropolitan streetlights, but Kibum would sometimes find one and smile, and grip Jonghyun’s hand and pull him closer to see, to gaze out of the window of Kibum’s apartment. Jonghyun would kiss the nape of Kibum’s neck and one thing would have always led to another. Just to have Kibum there had been a blessing even greater than the stars. Jonghyun knew it was clichéd, but he believed it.   Reality struck him like a shrill alarm as he regained his senses, the men’s voices working their way back towards Jonghyun in petty whispers, jibing at each other. His arm throbbed, pining for stitches and a clean bandage, and the warmth that spread through him was a burn, not a glow. The voices fell silent and Jonghyun released the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.   The men must have left.   He relaxed his limbs and squinted, hand drenched in sticky blood. It seemed the wound wasn’t bleeding much now, simply a feeble trickle as weak as his own mentality, however it hurt to remove his hand, the drying blood having almost fused the palm to the gash. Warily, Jonghyun tilted his head, far enough so that-   The cardboard boxes were ripped aside and in a blink hands were grappling at Jonghyun, hoisting him up by the lapels of his suit as he hastily yelled. Everything was in darkness, the heavy panting and sour scent of his attackers clothing his