“What do you mean there's nothing we can do?!”
Kibum’s voice was practically a shriek as he stared at the bloated detective in horror, bottom lip trembling dangerously. Neither he nor Minho’s mind had even thought of anything other than Jonghyun and Taemin; they weren't hungry, they weren’t tired, they weren’t sick. They were regretful, they were worried, they were scared.
“The safest thing,” the detective tried again, hand gently hitting against the silver desk in a slicing motion, “is for you and Mr. Choi to be placed into protective custody, for your own safety-“
“Oh, our safety!” Kibum exclaimed, halting his nervous pacing and turning quickly to face the detective, arms wrapped around his waist in fright. “We're the safe ones, we aren’t the ones who need protected – Jjong and Taemin are.”
“Whilst that may be the case,” the detective attempted, as Kibum started frantically walking again, “we need to ensure that your safety is continued, before we go and look for-“
“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear yourself?"   Kibum’s rhetoric caught the detective off guard as he approached the desk, the chair he'd already been perched on beside Minho shoved safely out of the way. He leant beside Minho with a finger pointed on the table top, eyes so fierce Minho assumed he'd the wish to rip the detective to shreds there and then. Despite everything, Minho allowed himself the briefest of ghosted smiles. This was the Kibum he needed. This was the Kibum he'd always known.
“We're practically safer than we've ever been,” Kibum hissed, glancing slightly at Minho who'd been silently sitting with his eyes riveted on the same spot for the past ten minutes, rendered speechless by the sudden flaring determination within Kibum. “In this room – this tiny, insipid hellhole – we’re safe. But you are neglecting my brothers, my ing brothers, who are in the most danger they’ve ever been in, more danger than you’ve probably ever faced in your life, simply to save media face, to save those you know are fine? Get your ing job done.”
The detective stared at Kibum for the longest time, their eyes locked in a deadly competition of shifting weight – the emotionally frenetic Kibum who'd only recently been a shuddering wreck in Minho’s strong arms, versus the pot-bellied detective who'd remained as stern-faced throughout their encounters as he had whilst watching the brutal mutilation of Jonghyun. Minho raised his head, feeling an awful dread emanate from the corners of the squat interrogation room, finally gazing at the now rather red-cheeked detective as he cleared his throat and loosened his tie.   "Sit down,” he commanded, through gritted teeth.   Kibum inhaled sharply and pulled the chair over slowly, sitting, his tough guise faltering as he sheepishly bit his bottom lip. He had to stay strong. If he weakened, even for a second, the split in his heart would consume him whole.   "Sir,” Minho addressed politely, trying to calm the deteriorating situation as the room inherited a thick aura of needless conflict, “as-as much as... As badly as he... Look, Kibum- he makes a good point, Sir. If you think we're both going to back down and hide away, from something we both played a part in, you're... You're greatly mistaken.”   The detective leaned back in his chair, bushy eyebrows furrowing as he scratched his chin, awaiting a continuation.   "Sir,” Minho murmured, voice cracking as he looked down. “Kibum and I... We know the stakes. We saw what- what happened. But we're just as guilty as the perpetrators. We hold a part in this, however small, and our part led to everything. Jinki died because we were neglectful of him, of- of what he was feeling. Taemin disappeared, firstly because we left him, and secondly because we didn’t trust him enough to find him. And Jonghyun-“ Minho breathed in, “-and Jonghyun got taken because I abandoned him, I abandoned him when he needed me most. And he'll forever pay the price that I should be the one paying. It should have been me in that room with Taemin, but instead it was him. Therefore, I'm willing to put anything on the line - even my life – to get them back. I made mistakes, I ed up, and they're the ones who got hurt.”   Beside Minho, Kibum sniffed. Unseen by the detective, Kibum extended his slender fingers and wrapped them firmly around Minho’s hand. Neither looked at the other, and Kibum just faintly squeezed, showing the younger the support he so clearly needed in the aftermath of his soliloquy.   "That's very heroic,” the detective dismissed tenderly, “but I just don’t know what you two think you can do. The safest and most useful place for you is here, where we can keep an eye on you. You aren’t helping your friends by running out into the open to get yourselves captured, it's senseless.”   "They aren’t our friends,” Kibum whispered, “they're our family.”
The detective opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a young woman opened the door, face auspicious and dark as she addressed, “Mr. Jeon?”   The detective pushed back his chair and stood, expression cold and remorseful, and excused himself with a quick, “Just a minu