The light in the room was oddly withheld. Although the furniture was dull, threadbare, closed in like the layout of an insane child’s dollhouse, the light that split through the cracked window pane was a cooling serenade. On the windowsill, a vase of dead flowers continued to wilt, burdened stalks sided by the translucent rags of curtains, that, in a past life, had probably been the most beautiful silk.

The door was open behind Taemin, but he didn’t move to close it. The room was moulded – the corners hiving as the mottled substance festered where the wall-paper was dog-eared – and as such held the intrusive scent of the invader.

In the middle of the room sat an iron-framed bed. Atop the bed, beneath a yellowed blanket, lay a body. Taemin stared at it.

The wooden floorboards creaked in protest as Taemin took a hesitant step. He was cold. His gaze was sharp.

What surprised Taemin the most was probably his own reaction, as he confirmed the sight he thought his eyes had leant in tricking; the body’s chest moved, inhaling and exhaling. Upon realising, Taemin fell. He simply fell, landing with a thump on his knees, and cried. The body stirred, the noise of Taemin provoking it from slumber, and a shuffle of sheets was the only audible noise aside from Taemin’s stunted hawks for air.

"Oh,” the body spoke, “you found me.”

As Taemin glanced up, he blinked heavily, to ensure his tears weren’t skewing his perception, and observed the body. It was a man – at least that much was still obvious – but it was a man so emaciated and malnourished that his cheekbones sharply jutted from his skin, hollowed. His skin was so pale it was practically transparent, and he was sickly, on the verge of falling into something much more detrimental than the common cold. His hair was long, a brunette that faded into black, and his complexion was awash with a near repulsive pallor, the lack of sunlight turning him a sheer white.

He removed an arm from beneath the duvet, and Taemin revoked the vomit that crept up his throat. The arm was revealed by the loose t-shirt, though it was nothing but a bone with skin and scarring, the flesh scratched at so viciously that it seemed to just flake away. The man noticed Taemin’s distraught expression and so hid the arm again, blinking at the younger, awaiting a response.

But Taemin’s response was an odd one. He jerked, eyes widening instantly, and began to spasm on the floor. His body convulsed and he hissed, the man watching dryly as he struck out a leg and an arm and allowed his head to snap to the side, mouth open but few sounds emanating.

When the convulsions stopped, the man in the bed sniffed, confused, as Taemin composed himself again, taking a minute to regain his senses. He shook his head and glanced at the man in the bed. His eyes were red. Both of their eyes were red.

Neither spoke.

"You've come to rescue me, Taemin, haven’t you? I knew you'd all find me. I knew it.”

But Taemin still didn’t know what to do, how to move, how to think. He knew the man in front of him, yet the man in front was a stranger. The only way Taemin had recognised him was the grin that had cut his expressions when Taemin had entered, a grin as if he'd been waiting for the young dancer.

"Are the others here?” the man continued. “Or are they waiting outside? Where are the police? Are they coming to get us? Are we free, Taemin?”

The man’s eyes sparkled brightly.

Taemin propped himself up steadily, rising to his feet and locking eyes with the only man who'd ever been able to create and break SHINee’s bond.

"Jinki, the police aren't coming. It's just me.”

Lee Jinki’s head swayed slightly on his neck as Taemin rushed forward and grabbed him, pulling him into a hug that pained them both equally. Jinki’s damaged body seared at Taemin’s touch, and as soon as he'd enveloped him, Taemin felt the frail and fragile nature that Jinki was forced into. His bones jutted out at strict angles, and as Taemin hugged him he froze. He froze and pulled away as soon as his hand moved to where Jinki’s right arm should have been.

Jinki stared at him with teared eyes, as Taemin wrenched away the duvet swiftly, mind an expansive mess. Jinki’s right arm was missing. All that remained was a deformed stump. Jinki stared at it, then at Taemin, wanting to explain as the younger staggered backwards but allowing all the words to fall short as soon as he tried.

"I- Taemin-“

Taemin shook his head and turned away, hiding behind his hands. He was muttering, but Jinki could barely make out the words. He just watched, face a dead weight that dragged down his sagging skin, as Taemin thumped the side of his head and twitched.

"Taemin,”