He questions Chanyeol first.

In the meantime, you press yourself into the corner of the room where the crimping, flexing shadows are beginning to gather, but it does nothing to deter the five pairs of curious eyes from boring into your skull. The one Chanyeol had called 'Suho-hyung' points at you, expression furious. Chanyeol shakes his head and ineffectively ducks his enormous height behind Baekhyun, whose bright smile disappears in the half second it takes for you to blink. There's no saying how long Suho lectures Baekhyun, but by the time he runs out of breath, Chanyeol is sniggering, and Baekhyun is trying to dig an elbow into Chanyeol's side to get him to shut up.

And the dust motes begin to settle on your shoulders.

It's not cold; not anymore. Suho had mindfully shut the door behind him, holding the chilly demons of Daegu winters at bay, whistling impatiently on the store's cracked doorstep. There's a lot more breathing space, now that Suho and the one other boy – the one, you note, with large, almond-shaped eyes and a distinctly hamstery face – have abandoned their silent staring contest. A tiny shiver snakes its way down the back of your sweater. You try to lean your torso away from the wall, which is wet with day-old rain and other, more mysterious substances, but then the material snags on a jutting piece of wood.

A piece of wood that was most definitely not there before.

Before you can free yourself to investigate, a hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you whirl around, eyes wild.

Hamtaro stares at you cautiously, his free hand buried in his hoodie pocket.

"Suho wants to talk to you."

You try to calm the frantic racing of the cogs in your brain as Stuart Little releases his not-so-rodent grip on your shoulder. Chanyeol's lips quirk wryly upwards for a split second before he manages to reassume his impassive stare, but it's enough for you to realise that what's to follow is probably not going to do a of good for anyone. The one called Suho has... a face. That much is obvious, you think to yourself dryly. Looks like my good friend Koh the Face-Stealer hasn't graced this one's presence. Yet. But it's a gentle face; not so unlike Bi-an's. The wrinkles around his eyes when he takes Baekhyun's hand to drag him onto the seat of the couch sparks a sort of maternal warmth in the pit of your bottomless stomach.

More emotions. You tip your head towards the star-speckled night sky, peeking at you through the shades of the shuttered window. I want to go home.

Then you think:

Suho's face looks like home.

And then you're absorbed in observing the planes and angles of his face. It's one of those somethings again; the ones that tease at the fraying edges of your memory like the mischievous fingers of a playful toddler – except it's not mischievous or playful in the least. It's just there, and then it's not; a flash of light in an otherwise eternally dark tunnel. A small part of your brain tells you that you're scared of the light; that there's no finding, let alone admiring, the light without the presence of darkness. But the larger part says that there's more to it than that. More than just black, and more than just white. 

The grey areas are there too. Areas of complexity, areas of order, areas of chaos, areas of absolute nothing, areas that are just purely... something. 

You wonder where your somethings have gone.

You let go of a sigh, and then you realise that the small chamber has gone completely silent except for the frenzied beating of – of what?

Of what?

You place a cold hand over your chest, but there's nothing there.

Nothing?

A warm hand brushes your forearm, and you jerk back.

"Don't touch me!"

What was that?

All traces of boyish tomfoolery is absent from Chanyeol's face as he rises from the couch, despite Suho's subtle warning. "Hyung, it'll be fine. She's fine. Right, Kim Chaeyeon?"

The sound of your name washes you back downstream, away from the gaping, ravenous abyss and back to the place where your feet can really, truly touch the bottom. The feeling of solidity, of somethings and anythings and everythings kisses the soles of your feet.

The ground seems a lot more real here.

Your eyes finally meet his. Bluish-grey meets dark-chocolate brown; so dark that you could have mistaken it for black, if not for the miniscule threads of light teasing his lashes. "Chanyeol," you murmur, suddenly self-conscious under the scrutiny of five. "Park Chanyeol."

Park Chanyeol. 

You play the name on loop, winding the cassette tape back again and again until the two words are branded in the backs of your eyes.

Don't forget. 

You allow yourself a small, reassuring smile. The sight of it seems to have an tranquilizer effect on the group. They all slump in relief, all except for Kyungsoo, who continues glaring at you like you're something distasteful he found in his food. You tilt your head at him, like a bird at something it finds curious, and the hostility in his eyes dampens a degree, though not enough to snuff it out completely. "I'm sorry," you begin, hesitantly. "I... I space out like that a lot. It's –" You stop yourself before you can finish your sentence. What the hell do you mean, 'It's a Collector thing'? What the hell? "It's fine. I'm Kim Chae –"

Suho interrupts with an awkward cough. "Kim Chaeyeon. We know. Baekhyun told us all about you," he informs you politely, but the gleam in his eye when he glances over at Baekhyun is anything but polite. "I'll cut it short. I'm Kim Jun-myeon, but everyone calls me Suho." He points at Mickey Mouse. Said rodent crosses his arms and averts his eyes. "Kim Minseok. Xiumin, if he'll let you." His foot taps impatiently against the hollow floorboards, eking a shuddering whunk whunk whunk. 

"Kim Chaeyeon, we need to know who you are."

You tense, and then catch yourself just in time. You can't tell if Suho noticed, but if he did, he doesn't bring it up. "Why?"

Suho asks, carefully, as if stepping on eggshells, "What do you mean, why?"

Minseok eyes you carefully as you juggle your answers. You think that he doesn't look any more like a rodent than he does now. You have the urge to point it out, but instead, your mouth blurts, "I'm Kim Chaeyeon. My parents moved here a few days ago, but I'm not sure if we're staying very long –"

"She's lying."

To drive your fist into the side of Minseok's face or not?

"Stay out of this, Speedy Gonzales."

"Sure. But only if you stop spouting lies in Suho's face."

He sneers.

Not worth it. It's not worth the punishment.

Baekhyun's eyes are growing wider and wider, his head swiveling from you to Minseok and back to you, as if he can't keep up with the conversation. 

"The police are coming soon," Suho starts again, looking thoroughly confused, and increasingly panicked. "Like, right now. They're going to ask you for your credentials." He appears to fight something, and then he looks at you with an awful combination of muted fear and terribly, terribly misplaced compassion. Please, don't look at me like that. "Look, I'm not going to ask any more of you. If you don't want to tell us, then I won't push you –"

The door is shoved unceremoniously open before he can finish his sentence. Suho steps forward, pushing you backwards, shielding you from the view of the officers as they swarm into the room, and the cold, unfeeling, malicious boy called Kim Minseok is crouching, grasping your hand in his own surprisingly warm grip, and wrenching you behind a slab of wood, and his face is pushed right up against yours, eyes fluttering, and he's whispering, desperately, "Don't move. Don't ing move. Don't ing move from here, Kim Chaeyeon, or I will get Kyungsoo to dole out the punishment I think you goddamn deserve."

Pause.

"Please. For Chanyeol, and Baekhyun."

Then he's gone, and the shouting of the police – the police the police the police – as they spot the unconscious bodies of the four men lined up against the wall is muffling the sound of Suho's voice, of Chanyeol's voice, of Baekhyun's voice.

You press your back to the wall, covering your ears, trying to block out the yelling and the scuffling and the grunts and the shocked protests – you hear Chanyeol cry out, "What are you doing?! What the hell?!", and the broken response, "Step back, kid. Let the grown-ups take care of this," – as the police bring the men back to the water's surface with a few well-placed swings of their batons.

Stop.

Stop it.

This feeling is new. It's different; not hot-chocolate, or ticklish, or warm, for that matter. It's one you haven't felt in years.

It's fear.

Your mouth releases a tiny whimper. "Stop it," you whisper. The words come out one after the other, packed in line and rushing out in a breathless mantra.

"Don't hurt them. Don't hurt them. I don't know anything, please stop hurting them. I'm begging you, please, I'm trying to remember, I am, I promise –"

And then something rushes out from behind you – a breath of wind, stabbing into your back – and there's a hand, a hand around your mouth, stemming the scream as it begins to sprout from your mouth, and it's pulling you backwards, and you're scrambling for purchase but the chains aren't helping, don't, please don't, please, I'm begging you, please –

You're such a bad girl. Good girls don't bite back, you know that?

Snap, goes your conscious, and then everything goes black.

Annyeong~~

yoooo have you guys watched WINGS holy guacamole please just let me take one break bighit please... i don't want this, i don't I DONT

don't cry jungkook don't cry aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

*cough

Thanks for reading as always, guys! My heart cannot take the sheer amount of love I have for you all, you're all so precious and afybikhrsndjfhuiblhaenklsjuhijsnujk

chyeah

- Yukarin