[title track: love feat. zacari - kendrick lamar]
[7k, unedited, ya girl will edit it when i get back from work!]

Chapter Five.

You watch as she sighs, rolling her eyes, "I wanted to stay out of it, you know."

You blink, brow wrinkling, "But you're—" You gesture at her in emphasis, "You're one of the rebels. You started it."

She snorts, delicately, "I didn't start . It was...everyone else, honestly. Jihyo set it up, though. Jihyo was—she was really something. She spent years building up this fire, networking everywhere and anywhere, she really pulled out all the stops, She's one hell of a manipulative , and she knew it. it's incredible, really, looking back on it now. But, back then, it just felt...overwhelming? It's hard to explain, even now." It's quiet, the honking of cars from down below filling the silence. She seems tired, right then, as she continues speaking, "Any ways, I never wanted to join the rebellion. I never really chose to actively be a part of any of it, at first. It just happened."

"It just happened?" You repeat, frowning.

"Yes, one thing lead to another and suddenly I found myself way in over my head in the beginnings of a coup. Think of it as equivalent to a professional football team assigning a blind man as their keeper during the semi-finals of the World Cup." She stares at you, then, eyes piercing, steady, chin up, "Under different circumstances, I don't think I ever would have chosen to be a part of the rebel forces."

You bite back your comment about how oddly specific her example is, dwelling on the last part. You can't wrap your head around it. Looking at her now, you imagined her original mindset would have evolved as the story continued. You imagined her as a selfless rebel, because she was human before and now she isn't and doesn't that mean she sacrificed her life for the cause? "How? Why, then?” You gasp out, your words slipping out of you unintentionally.

She doesn't look angry at the obvious distaste in your tone, in fact, she looks resigned, like she expected it. The disappointment washes over you like a sudden wave because you really thought, no, you imagined, her to be heroic somehow. She smiles, a watery thin thing, and replies, "Because, sometimes, you do stupid that goes against everything you believe in just to protect your people."

You blink, mouth dropping open. Maybe, she is heroic, maybe—

"Don't look at me like that. When I say my people I mean my people. The people I cared about. I didn't have very many and not all of them were considered good."

"That's selfish."

"So are you. That's why you're doing this project."

You redden because she’s right and you’re a damn hypocrite now, too.

She smiles, glancing out the open balcony doors. "But that's how humans are." She sighs, standing up. The hairs at the back of your neck stand on end when she moves, swiftly, almost too fast for you to really catch the logistics of. One second she's sitting there, the next she's across the room. You think you see her get up and take a few steps, but you can't be sure, not when she's already at the kitchen counter, pouring herself a glass of wine when your brain barely processed her getting to her feet properly. She tilts her glass in your direction, offering you a chance for a glass, patiently waiting for you to get over your shock at her speed, and you eye the red wine sloshing in the crystal glass apprehensively. She snorts at your wide eyes and wrinkled nose, "It's not blood, I swear. Cross my heart."

You figure it'd be rude to reject the offer, so you nod. You blink and she's sitting in front of you again, legs crossed, dainty feet pointed out, your glass of red wine on the table in front of you, next to your recorder. You subtly sniff it, a ginger movement that doesn't go unnoticed by her, her smile widening as she rolls her eyes. You sip it and it's sweet, but it's too early to be drinking wine. You say so.

She tilts her head, swirling the glass of wine slowly, her eyes darkening, "Are you calling me an alcoholic?"

You shake your head, the movement a bit frantic. "N—no."

"It doesn't do much to our kind."

"Then why do you drink it?"

She blinks, staring at her glass and she looks almost lost, nostalgic. "The aesthetic."

You eye her funnily. You’re a reporter for a reason. "That's bull."

You're taken aback by your own tone. She's just amused. "Well, you caught me. At least, that's half of it. The other half is—I'm getting ahead of myself." She stares at the wine in her glass, swirling and swirling, for three long minutes, before she says, "As I was saying before, I didn't want to be a part of it, but I got dragged into it anyway."

"How?"

"Jihyo's rebels, the one's on that rooftop, decided to go into hiding. Half of them got into our town illegally anyways." She looks annoyed, as if the wine has offended her somehow, "That's how I became the resident grocery girl."

~.~.~.~.~

"How long does it take to open a door?" She snaps when the door finally opens, revealing Baekhyun rolling his eyes at her.

(She was adamant on not wanting to be a part of Jihyo's rebellion, adamant on pretending like she never saw a thing, but then Jihyo had said, "They're not from town, can you at least bring them food? I can't leave the bar that often since the new police chief is always watching me."

Dasom had scowled, asked, "Why the hell can't they do it themselves?"

Jihyo had sighed, her big brown eyes glancing away, falling to the wall next to Dasom's face, "I'hey can, it's just they could be caught—nevermind it's not your problem. Never mind."

Dasom had stared at Jihyo's anxious frown, glanced over her shoulder at the younger kids she knew off the street, at Tzuyu and Dahyun. And her heart tugged. If these idiots got caught, they might spill everything and then, what? She's shudders at the thought of something happening to these kids, even to Jihyo. Dasom blinks at Jihyo, at the way Jihyo's big brown eyes land on Dasom's wandering expression, how she can't ever hide the slightly calculating look she has in them, not from her, because Dasom can see right past her bull innocence, a defense mechanism she's learned to put up the minute she realized that her appearance could be a survival tool, too. "I know what you're doing." Dasom mutters, scowling at Jihyo, especially when she gives her a doe-eyed look.

“I don't know what you're talking about."

"I ing hate you." Dasom responds, groaning. She wants to ing leave it, she wants to be able to walk away, but Jihyo knows exactly where to hit her where it hurts and when Dasom's eyes drift back to those kids, all of whom have been dragged into this mess because of Jihyo and her ridiculous charms, Dasom's glare deepens.

Jihyo pouts a little, enunciating each syllable, "If not for me, then do it for the kids."

Dasom rolls her eyes, anger crawling under her skin. For a moment, she lets it seep through. "If they die, it's going to be on you. I'll keep these idiots in line, so the kids stay safe, we both know I will, goddammit. But all this, anything that happens because of this, it's on you, Jihyo."

Then the anger turns to bitter resignation, especially when Jihyo drops the doe eyed innocent act and looks so incredibly serious, brown eyes hardening like dried soil on a hot, hot day, "I know.")

"Ask your girlfriend why there's twenty-six deadbolts on this. That's not gonna hold back anyone." Baekhyun says, eyeing the door hinge in disdain.

Dasom frowns, "Girlfriend?" She can't even stand Jihyo as an acquaintance, why would she want Jihyo as a girlfriend? Dasom wrinkles her nose at Baekhyun as she sidesteps him and heads to the small table and sink-slash-counter ensemble that they’ve dubbed the kitchen, shouldering her pack onto the table. She can hear voices from the main room, where they've set up base.

The ‘safe house’ itself is just a single floor, two room apartment hidden in the belly of downtown. It’s quite literally underground, though there are small windows in the main room that they’ve meticulously sealed off with wood and broken furniture pieces. There’s honestly barely any room for three people to lounge comfortably in the main room, but apparently the two other rebels and Baekhyun are sleeping in there. Dasom tries to avoid the main room, but she knows it’s full of ratty cushions and thin blankets and computers, communications devices Dasom knows, though she has no idea what does what. She’s been in the side room, a tiny rectangular area that the front door opens up to and contains a tiny round wooden table with wobbly chairs and a counter and rusty sink jutting out the wall. The bathroom is in the main room, a separate iny room with plumbing that thankfully works (which makes Dasom wonder if this place belonged to a supernatural beforehand). The sounds of beeping and typing is a constant in the little ‘safe house.’ Dasom had tried to make sense of how Jihyo had gotten a hold of all those high tech communications devices, but she couldn't do it and she really didn’t want to.

Baekhyun raises a brow, "Why else would you bring us food?"

Dasom contemplates telling him why, telling him her reasoning. But he's smirking, brow raised, and she decides she doesn't need to explain to him. Instead, she unties her makeshift rucksack and says, firmly, "We're not together. We're not even friends." There's a pause, her finger stilling as she pulls out the hard bread Old Lady Seo sells for real cheap, mostly because it's always hard enough to break teeth (which explains why Old Lady Seo has no teeth). She ruminates on the concept of being together with someone. She's never thought of it, not really. Perhaps, on occasion, she'd hear the lewd whispers from other creatures on the street when she used to go out in public with Jongdae or think of all the ridiculous stories the handful of lucky, elderly ladies would share about their husbands or lovers or even just, companions to survive with, dead or alive, on the occasions where the black markets would be somewhat cheerful, if anyone could call it that, she'd sometimes look at Jongdae and try to see the two of them as she saw her parents—vague memories of them smiling at each other or holding hands sometimes flickers at the back of her mind, faded as they are. It wasn't something she thought of often, only rarely, really. She never really saw Jongdae that way, but then again she never really saw anyone like that. She never really had time to. Though she thinks if she had to choose a lifelong partner to just survive with, it'd be Kim Jongdae, even if he wasn't human, like her.

She glances up at Baekhyun, who is looking at her, expression pinched. He looks like he believes her words about Jihyo, at the very least.

Before he can say anything, one of the other out-of-town rebels saunters into the kitchen. He's tall and tanned, all gangly limbs and smiles, but he looks entirely too young to be here. He grins widely at her and his smile is big and sweet, only serving to make him look younger somehow. Earlier, the first time she brought food to them, he had said his name was Bambam and she hadn't bothered asking him what his real name was. He said he came from the south, past the sea, and Dasom couldn't even fathom a sea, let alone an entire south.

"Ooooh, food. Thanks, you’re the best!" Bambam grins, his face scrunching up as he makes grabby hands at her rucksack.

She can't help but smile back, "Don't get your hopes up. It's just bread."

"The hard bread?" Bambam asks, lips pursing.

Dasom smiles at his expression, she can't help it, the kid is adorable and very much more of a kid then an adult. Much like Tzuyu and Dahyun and the other boy, the pale one with an earring—Yugyeom. Dasom, once again, ignores that sudden pang of worry, protectiveness that pricks at the confines of her chest. Instead, she dumps the bread out of her rucksack and the single bowl of soup—rather half a sweet potato boiled in water— and sets it on the table, throwing her rucksack back over her shoulder. "Don't worry. I brought some soup this time, so you don't lose a tooth."

"Too late." Baekhyun mutters. Dasom pointedly ignores him, especially when Bambam's eyes light up, though she has no idea why because the soup is , too, but it's better than nothing.

Bambam grins and scoops up the bread and soup, balancing both of them precariously in his arms, before traipsing out the kitchen and into the other room. When the door opens, she hears Dahyun's voice, her words coming out fast, excited. Dasom has a feeling she's talking to someone else, someone not in that room, but Dasom doesn't dwell on it, doesn't want to comprehend the amount of outside correspondence they're doing. She doesn't want to get involved.

Baekhyun coughs and she realizes she's been staring at the door Bambam disappeared through for too long. Dasom blinks, rapidly, turning away, and she ignores the look Baekhyun gives her.

There's almost an awkward silence between them, until Baekhyun speaks, very quietly, he says, "You're stupid if you think you're not involved already."

She blinks and, for a moment, anger itches under her skin. She scowls and murmurs, "Shut up."

Then she walks out, thinks maybe she shouldn't bring those kids food, she shouldn't cut back on her own food intake in order to sneak away food for them, because buying too much will look suspicious and she can't even trust the black-market sellers, not when she's human and plenty of them are not. She shouldn't care, she doesn't want to care. She thinks of not returning.

~.~.~.~.~

(She returns, much to her dismay. She returns and Baekhyun keeps giving her knowing looks. Jihyo, on the couple occasions that she’s there, just smiles smugly, and Dasom grows irritated with the both of them. She’d be annoyed with all of them, including Dahyun and Tzuyu and Yugyeom and Bambam if they weren’t the sweetest kids she’s ever met, despite having exceptionally ridiculous senses of humor.

So, she’d return.)

~.~.~.~.~

Weeks pass, though Dasom isn’t entirely sure how many. She’s been avoiding the pits and even though she’s saved up money, she’s beginning to run out. She needs to fight, she knows this, and the underground pits have already reopened somewhere else, because Supernaturals don’t give a about rules or crackdowns, not when they have the privilege of knowing they won’t die if they’re caught. She owes the pit masters a few more fights, thanks to pre-match bets. She has to go back, but she knows it’d be stupid to, what with crackdowns of all kinds suddenly diverging on their side of town.

She steps into the hideout and it’s quiet. Bambam is sitting at the dining table, lips pursed and eyes filled with mirth.

She blinks, opens to ask if something’s wrong, when she’s interrupted by a red-scarfed boy with a mouth that won’t stop running, “You don’t want to know.” Baekhyun says, eyeing Bambam with a tiny smirk.

Bambam just huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Baekhyun laughs. She hears a dull thud from the other room, which makes Bambam roll his eyes, pouting childishly.

She looks at Baekhyun, because technically he’s the adult supervision in this hideout, a terrible one, but one nonetheless.

Baekhyun just grins at her and says, “We should probably let them work it out.”

“Let who work what out?” She asks, brows furrowing together. “What’s happening?”

Then she hears Yugyeom shout, from the other room, “Bam’s a , that’s what.”

Bambam narrows his eyes, glancing at you, “Yugyeom’s a piece of .”

Baekhyun groans when Yugyeom’s stomps through the communications room and slams open the door leading into the kitchen. He scowls, all one hundred eighty something centimeters of him. Baekhyun says, “Can I go to the market with you? I can’t sit through another round of this.”

Dasom winces when Yugyeom’s voice grows shrill. “Where’s Tzuyu and Dahyun?”

“They’re working.” Baekhyun’s lips turn further downwards. Dasom mentally agrees because she’s never liked the work Tzuyu and Dahyun do, but she knows it’s the only way they can survive. They won’t accept the food Dasom brings and Dasom wants to lament that pride, but she’s well aware of what that kind of pride feels like, what it can make one do.

Bambam stands up, shaking a fist, chair hitting the ground with a dull thud. Dasom winces again, “Okay, let’s go.”

Baekhyun grins, pausing just long enough to remind them not to shout too loudly, to which they reply with polite acknowledgements because they’re sweet kids, despite everything.

~.~.~.~.~

"You can't come with me." She says, turning to look Baekhyun in the eyes.

He outright pouts, pink lips jutting out and cheeks puffing out. Dasom wrinkles her nose at the sight. "Are you pouting?"

"I'm going to go crazy in there if I don’t get some fresh air soon." Baekhyun mumbles, rolling his eyes, pout deepening.

She raises a brow, glancing around them at the smog filled air. "Fresh?"

"You get what I'm trying to say. Don't be a smartass." He mutters, rolling his eyes.

She eyes him, the way his fingers keep moving. He keeps tapping at his thigh with his admittedly pretty-looking fingers, too smooth and soft looking for a human, really, at least for the humans she’s been around all her life. He bounces on his toes, like he really is going crazy, as if he’s ready to spring into the air and just run. He’s restless, extremely restless. She feels bad for him, because she'd hate being trapped in that stuffy house with nothing to do, too.

She meets his gaze, his deep, deep pout, and she sighs, "Fine. You can come. Just..." She reaches out and pulls the hood of his dark cloak over his head. Baekhyun just grimaces as she yanks it down over his eyes. She glances down at his red scarf, too bright for the bleak landscape that is her hometown. It’s too inconspicuous, too recognizable. She points at it but before she can say a thing, Baekhyun's hands come up to grab the scarf, clutching it to his chest, his grip tight. He tilts his head back a little, his chin jutting out and the hood slipping back off his eyes, his expression tight, stiff, making her pull her hand back. He gives her a long, long look, shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

"No." He says, voice sharp.

"It's too bright. And I'm sure the werewolves already—"

"No."

She blinks rapidly at his hostile tone before nodding, slowly, "Fine. Okay, okay. Just keep your head down."

Baekhyun yanks the hood back over his eyes, jaw tight, clenching. They walk in silence, side-by-side, and she's a little confused, even as they edge through the crowd of people leaving work and going about their day, faces haggard and streaked with soot from the factory.

She makes a point to keep herself from glancing sideways at him, waiting until he calms down.

It's silent for a while until Baekhyun speaks, his tone normal again, filled with that same airy tone with a hint of mischief and too much amusement as if he thinks everything is a huge joke. "Can I ask you something?"

She glances at him and he looks almost sheepish at his outburst earlier. He looks away for a minute before meeting her eyes again. She chooses not to comment, answering his question instead, allowing him that change in subject because she isn’t one to ask questions. Instead, she makes a face and responds, "No."

Baekhyun laughs, a short sound, before he asks anyway, "Why are you helping us?"

Dasom glances around, but no one's close enough to hear their conversation. She shushes him anyway. "Can we not talk about that here?"

"You're clearly against everything we’re doing, so why are you doing this?" Baekhyun insists, glancing at her, his eyes hidden by his hood.

Dasom purses her lips before she decides, she might as well answer. Baekhyun's not going to stop asking. "I'm not going to just let those kids starve."

(She thinks of that very scenario, of Bambam or Yugyeom or Tzuyu or Dahyun starving or worse, and goosebumps prickle up and down her arms. She doesn’t want to imagine that. She already can barely manage imagining them getting caught and punished, the same way her parents were.)

Baekhyun blinks at her, as if he's surprised by her answer, and she vaguely wonders if she should be offended somehow. Then he nods his head, the movement slow, deliberate, as he seems to analyze her with his dark eyes. Slowly, he says, "But that’s what's been happening. To kids in every town, everywhere."

She frowns, "I know that."

“That’s what we’re trying to stop.” Baekhyun keeps at it.

She grits her teeth because she’s aware of that, she’s so aware, but that doesn’t mean this will work, “I know that.”

"Then why are you trying to avoid this?" Baekhyun whispers harshly, his eyes filling with excitement, with rabid curiosity, with irritation. "Jihyo told me what you do in those pits. Hell, your parents are the famous—"

"Do not bring them into this." Dasom cuts him off instantly, her tone sharp, despite her words wavering the slightest bit.

(Breathe. Breathe. She thinks of those words every single time and she hates how her chest constricts, how grows tight even as she stares at this Baekhyun, glaring at him, watching him glare right back, unaffected, uncaring about anything but his cause.)

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, "You're not the only one with dead parents, Dasom." Annoyance tightens his expression, his brows furrowed, pout gone, now replaced by twisted mouth and dark eyes and a creased forehead.

Dasom blinks, guilt of all things bubbling up at the pit of her stomach. She instantly shuts it out, instantly yanks on a frown even as anger skitters through her veins, making them itch, "Shut up." She exclaims, her voice louder than intended because some of the people around them steal glances at the two of them, a hybrid’s rabbit ears twitching as it stares at them for a second too long.

That seems to make Baekhyun pause, reeling back his annoyance and sudden intensity, his dark eyes still hard, but his expression blank now, rather than annoyed or angry. His jaw remains clenched and her fists curl at her sides.

Dasom doesn't immediately deflate, like she'd usually do with her anger, like she always does. It stays, it simmers, it settles. She speaks after a minute, voice softer but just as sharp, "You don't know anything about me, Baekhyun."

"I know a frightened little girl holding herself back when I see one." Baekhyun whispers, tone and gaze so, so fierce, blazing and dark, despite the blankness still obscuring his expressions. There is something almost understanding there, she thinks, though it is brief, fleeting. Nevertheless, she doesn't let herself dwell on it, doesn't ing want to, because for once she is angry and it stays, blazes on within her.

She stares at him, gets the sudden urge to punch him, spiked glove and all, and show him the frightened little girl he apparently sees, but a small, tiny part of her whispers, you know he's right.

That only serves to make Dasom angrier.

She drops a withering glare on him before spinning on her heels and entering the marketplace, focusing fully and completely on buying food, meats and vegetables that will last a while. She knows Baekhyun is at her side because the market elders glance over her shoulder, raising a brow at her as if who he is is any of their business. She knows it's strange of her to come to the tiny human owned market with somebody who isn't Jihyo or Jongdae or occasionally a starving child her heart would twist for, though that's rare. She doesn't have many friends or acquaintances that she is around often. "A sweet potato, please." She'd say, before they can try to pry eyeing the tiny potatoes on the table, because they're humans their good crops are taken from them and sold elsewhere.

She goes through the motions and she's surprised because she's still reeling, still ticked off at Baekhyun, mostly because he isn't entirely wrong and it's ing frustrating. She's an underground fighter, for 's sakes, she's not supposed to act like a frightened little girl in the face of adversity. She certainly doesn't when she's fighting monsters every night. Besides, he’s just some random man Jihyo pulled from a town outside these walls and he’s already acting like he knows her so well (hell, he’s reading her better than she ever expected from a stranger).

She's so lost in her thoughts, in the task at hand, in pretending like Baekhyun isn't with her because he's still an , even if he's somewhat correct, that she doesn't notice they're done until Baekhyun's tapping her shoulder.

She blinks and she murmurs, "Oh." as she looks at the two bags in her hand, neither one heavy because she's still not rich, hell, she barely gets by even now, despite winning so many matches (she can't do a damn thing when she doesn't get her fair share of money from the pool because of some bull excuse from the moderators about how she has fees to pay).

There's another bout of silence, this time awkward, until Baekhyun speaks, suddenly, "Um, you good?"

"Fine."

Baekhyun looks like he wants to say something else (perhaps apologize, she thinks dryly), his mouth opening and closing twice, before he settles on a nod and silence. She makes a face.

Just when the awkwardness of their silence gets worse, more biting, painful almost, a familiar voice calls out, "Dasom! Hey!"

She blinks, pausing, and Jongdae jogs up to her, his tail curled and his at ears sprung up, twitching slightly. He grins, a beautiful curly smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes at all, it barely stretches across his mouth properly. He looks tired, she notices, though she's relieved to see him out of his nice work clothes and in an actual pair of scuffed shoes. Despite the brief shot of intense happiness that shoots through her at the sight of him, she still can't stop thinking about the last time she saw him. "Jongdae." She says.

Jongdae's smile flattens a bit, his ears flattening at the top of his head, his eyes darting side to side before he murmurs, "I'm sorry about the other day, Som."

She raises a brow, "Were you really? Sure didn't show it then."

She's surprised at the anger lacing her tone, perhaps leftover from her argument with Baekhyun.

Jongdae seems surprised, too, his tail beginning to sway slowly, back and forth. His eyes flicker sideways, hovering over her shoulder, "Who's this?"

"Don't change the subject." She retorts just as Baekhyun says,

"Baekhyun. Nice to meet you..."

"Jongdae."

"Jong. Dae. Interesting." Baekhyun enunciates each syllable as he repeats the name, though his lips are turned up in a sort of -eating smirk that feels absolutely mocking, even to Dasom. Jongdae smiles the thin, polite smile he uses when he doesn't really want to smile. She thinks of it as his political smile.

"Hey!" Dasom interrupts Jongdae's annoyed glare at Baekhyun, his cat eyes glinting even while Baekhyun just looks highly bemused, Baekhyun’s own eyes flickering to the tail and ears. "I said don't change the subject."

Jongdae tears his eyes off of Baekhyun, lips curling into a frown, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you. That guy is just...he's not under my jurisdiction, Som. I couldn't do anything."

Dasom wants to say, yes you could have. She wants to say that not everything is a part of jurisdiction, of a law that treats her and her people worse than dirt. But she doesn't. She doesn't ask questions, that's who she is. Instead, she just stares.

Jongdae coughs, rubbing the back of his neck as the silence stretches on, his eyes flickering away from her disbelieving gaze. Then he murmurs, "I'm really sorry, Dasom. I swear I am."

She just nods, slowly, chest suddenly feeling full.

Jongdae reaches out and presses tentative fingers to her shoulder, big cat eyes deeply sorrowful, before he steps away, and murmurs, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

And then he hurries off, without waiting for her response, his ears twitching.

Another silence, this time almost painful, filled with a sort of dread on her part curls up within the depths of her stomach and she watches him disappear into the crowded square.

Dasom wants to remain angry, but it ebbs away. She just feels anxious.

"You're really gonna get hurt, you know that, right?" Baekhyun murmurs it and when she spins to glare at him, she's momentarily stunned by how sad he looks, his usual mischievous, playful, amused expressions completely void.

"Shut up." She mutters, without much conviction, her gaze still flickering sideways, towards where Jongdae disappeared, even though she doesn’t want to glance that way in the first place.

Baekhyun just snorts before he reaches out, easily plucking the bags from her hand, and strides off without another word.

~.~.~.~.~

Baekhyun unpacks her torn, ragged cloth bags, stuffing the tiny potatoes into a basket Jihyo must have brought from her place, since it’s tightly woven and still so new looking compared to the rest of the things in the safe house. Tzuyu bounces up from one of the old wooden chairs, plucking one of the handful of oranges Dasom could afford, grinning.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get these, Dasom!” Tzuyu says, even as she plops down on her chair and immediately gets to work at peeling at the orange with a knife she procures out of thin air.

Dasom laughs, she can’t help it. Baekhyun grins at Tzuyu, reaching out to ruffle her hair like he can’t help it. Tzuyu kicks him in the knee in response, though Baekhyun manages to jump out of the way pretty quickly, still grinning as he turns his attention back on the task at hand.

Dasom watches as Baekhyun pulls out the small bit of grocery and folds her rucksack up into a tiny square before holding it out for her. A frown tugs at her lips as she stares at his hand, pretty fingers grasping at her cloth bag that he’s nearly folded up. She thinks of his words, of the queasy feeling she had early, and her frown only deepens. A whole minute passes where Tzuyu gets her whole orange peeled and his other hand goes up to the scarf around his neck, tugging at it. It’s a habit of his, she realizes, her eyes following the movement for a brief second.

“I know my hands are pretty, but are you really going to keep staring at them like that?” Baekhyun asks, finally breaking the long stretch of silence.

“Ooh.” Tzuyu coos from her seat as she blinks up at them.

Dasom throws Tzuyu a warning look that has Tzuyu just grinning angelically. Dasom sighs, turning to Baekhyun. She snatches her rucksack out of his hand and says, “You’re not coming with me to the market ever again.”

Baekhyun tilts his head ever so slightly to the left, observing her expression with bemused eyes, “Is it because of your boyfriend?” He asks.

“Boyfriend? Ooooooh.” Tzuyu coos louder, giggling in her seat.

Dasom’s gaze flickers up to the ceiling in exasperation before she addresses both Tzuyu and Baekhyun, tone stern, “It’s not like that.”

Baekhyun hums in disbelief, a low sound that echoes through the room. “Oh, really now?”

Frustration bubbles up in the pit of her stomach and she sighs, loudly, while Tzuyu eats her orange at a significantly slower pace, clearly wanting to be present for more opportunities to insert her unnecessary oohs and ahhs. “Jongdae’s supposed to be the next mayor.” Dasom snaps out at Baekhyun, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So, you like powerful men? Good to know.” Baekhyun snorts, a universally unattractive gesture that doesn’t even look that bad on him, much to her chagrin.

Tzuyu laughs, her hand covering her guffaws and Dasom’s frown deepens even more. She hates how this man whom she barely knows can get under her damn skin so much. Dasom enunciates each word, “He’s the mayor, Baekhyun. He doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Your double life as the rebel’s errand lady is safe.” Baekhyun responds, his square grin annoyingly mocking. Baekhyun tilts his head and eyes her funnily, “He’s a cat hybrid, right?” She nods and Baekhyun’s grin only gets wider, “Those possessive eyes were no joke. No wonder Dasom got all tongue tied.”

Tzuyu snorts, loudly, and Baekhyun grins at her and Dasom’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head when both of them speaking simultaneously, “I guess the cat’s got her tongue.”

“Shut up.” Dasom grumbles.

Tzuyu giggles with a mouthful of orange wedges, “Aw, she’s turning red. You know, they did grow up together.”

Dasom scowls at Tzuyu just as Baekhyun lets out a short, amused laugh. Dasom rolls her eyes, utterly exasperated as she throws her hands up in the air, “You’re terrible. Both of you.”

Dasom swivels on her heels and stomps to the door, grumbling while Baekhyun and Tzuyu high-five each other.

Dasom is certainly never coming back here again, she decides.

~.~.~.~.~

Dasom trudges through the afternoon factory crowd. It’s freezing and snow drifts lazily over their little town. She’s always thought it looked pretty coming down, so pure and untouchable and soft, but once it hits the ground, it’s anything but. It’s blackened by factory smoke and soot and it sometimes burns when she drops her head back and some of the snow drifts into her eyes.

The sun is beginning to set, over the towering walls surrounding the city, and Dasom is beyond worried.

She’s running low on money. The pits haven’t reopened. She can only pickpocket so many times before she gets caught or a hybrid tries to tear her head off her neck. She’s spent too much of her meager extra money on those kids, on Bambam and Yugyeom, on ing Baekhyun. On Jihyo’s makeshift rebel base that seems to be doing nothing, at least that’s what Dasom notices. Dasom has been to see them in days and she can almost imagine Bambam’s pout or Yugyeom’s shy smile or Tzuyu and Dahyun giggling at her expense every time Baekhyun opens his big mouth. She can almost imagine—she frowns at that thought, the creases on her forehead deepening.

Now she’s worried and her feet are moving on autopilot, until she’s at the roof, the one she always goes to when she wants to think.

She watches the sun set behind the wall and she thinks Jihyo and those kids and Baekhyun are ing idiots. Her stomach grumbles in agreement, her gloves knocking against her pelvis beneath her ragged cloak.

“Som.” Jihyo’s voice is soft, though it does ring atop the roof, loud in the silence.

Dasom glances over her shoulder. Black snow mixes with white and dots Jihyo’s light brown hair. There are no streaks of soot across her face; there hasn’t been in years, not since Jihyo collected that Werewolf Merchant of hers.

Jihyo’s holding a little brown drawstring bag and Dasom knows exactly what it is. Dasom frowns, “I don’t need those anymore. I think the fights are over.”

Jihyo strides forward, each step clinking against stone before she presses the little drawstring bag in Dasom’s limp hand. “I’m sure they’ll start up again. You never know when you’ll need it.” She eyes her pointedly.

Dasom sighs, rolling her eyes, before turning back to the black-grey sky and the towering walls straight ahead. “I won’t.” Dasom says, adamantly.

“You might.” Jihyo murmurs, tone cryptic.

Dasom doesn’t take the bait, she doesn’t ask the question Jihyo wants her to ask, so Jihyo does what she always does and keeps talking, acting as if Dasom had asked.

“That new police chief called in the Merchant.” For a moment, Dasom wonders if she’s imagining the slight tremble in Jihyo’s voice. Dasom doesn’t know what exactly their dynamic is—she had never asked—but Dasom thinks, maybe, at this moment, Jihyo sounds worried about that Werewolf Merchant.

(It doesn’t make sense, though, because Jihyo has scars on her neck and Dasom doesn’t even know the merchants name. Maybe, the Merchant is a source of stability and no matter how ed up it is, Jihyo needs that stability to survive. She harvested it, throughout the years. Jihyo cultivated it. And, now, Jihyo is afraid she’ll lose him and everything she’s worked on. That would make more sense than Jihyo caring about that Werewolf Merchant.)

Dasom curls her fingers around the bag Jihyo’s pressed into her palms.

Dasom thinks of Bambam and Yugyeom and Dahyun and Tzuyu and, even, Baekhyun, as she takes a deep breath before asking the question Jihyo wants to hear, “Is it starting?”

Jihyo nods and for once, she’s not all fire and pure, unadulterated confidence. She is anxiety, worry, hidden but obvious to Dasom’s trained eyes. “Soon.”

Dasom nods.

There’s a long pause before Jihyo says, voice carefully unaffected, “If—if you don’t want to be involved anymore, it’s fine. Keep the gloves on you, just in case, though.”

Dasom blinks after Jihyo in surprise.

~.~.~.~.~

Dasom’s curled in her bed, stomach grumbling and feeling slightly guilty for not bothering to visit that stupid rebel base of Jihyo’s. She’s not sure if she misses the people there or if she just misses the company. Jongdae hasn’t been to see her in weeks, really, not since she ran into him at the market with Baekhyun, and she misses speaking with people, seeing people. Perhaps, she is just starving for interaction, more than anything else.

Her gloves are clipped to the waistband of her pants. Her stomach grumbles and she figures starvation is the reason why she’s taken Jihyo’s warning to heart and she’s been carrying her gloves everywhere, despite not wanting to be involved with Jihyo and her mess anymore. She practically sleeps with her gloves now, rather than having them at arm’s reach like she usually would.

Dasom stares at the ceiling, eyes zeroing in on the hole in the ceiling above her bed that’s dripping dirty snow water down onto her cheek. She should fix it, she knows she should, but she’s really too tired to do anything much.

She’s still staring at the ceiling and the damp hole above her head, when there’s a loud knock at her door.

She blinks, immediately rolling to her feet. She grabs her cloak, as a means to hide the gloves clipped to her side, and she stares at the door, even as she speaks, “What do you want?”

An unfamiliar voice echoes through the thin, flimsy material of the door. “Open the door.”

She doesn’t recognize the voice but she knows she spoke quietly enough for a supernatural to hear her. She tenses as she assesses her surroundings, mentally berating herself for never creating another way out of her little one bedroom home. She’s always been so focused on keeping people from getting in that she never thought about how difficult that’d make getting out.

The voice is chilly as it booms through the door, “You have five seconds to open this door before we do it ourselves.”

She stiffens. We, they had said.

There’s more than one person.

She doesn’t have a chance of escaping she realizes.

Dasom takes a deep, deep breath and pushes aside the barriers she keeps pressed to the door, even though she knows it won’t actually help, it gives her peace of mind.

Slowly, she yanks the door open and settles her expression into an annoyed one. “What?” She snaps out.

Her gaze falls on the man in front of her and her heart lodges in . He smirks at her, because he can hear it, he can hear the way her heart jumps and skips a beat in fear, and the werewolves behind him can smell it as well as hear it. It’s the new police chief, the vampire cop, Kris. And behind him are the typical werewolf cops, all sneering at her with their tongues lolling. Then her eyes snap to the side and she almost misses him among the hostile gazes of the vampire cop and the werewolves.

Jongdae.

She blinks at him and he his gaze is as blank as she’s ever seen it.

She stares at him and dread bubbles up in her chest, dread and something akin to hurt, to fear. It’s strange and painful, because she’s never felt fear when she looked at Jongdae, not once, yet, here she is.

(She’s not scared of him, but she’s scared of the circumstances, of why he is here, why he’s looking at her that way.)

Jongdae’s gaze leaves hers for a moment, as if he can sense the fear and dread radiating off of her.

Then it returns and his cat-like yellow eyes are stiff and emotionless. Business-like.

Then she’s reminded of where she is, who she is with, when the vampire cop grips her arm, the grip so tight it hurts, and says, “Check that hole of hers.” The werewolves wrinkle their noses and Kris snaps out, “Move.”

Dasom immediately reacts, trying in vain to yank her arm out of his group. Kris barely even budges. She looks at Jongdae, her eyes wide, “Jongdae, what’s going on?”

“Oh, so you do know her, huh, Kim?” Kris sounds amused, his voice sending chills down her spine, her instincts instantly going on overdrive. Her body knows that he is a predator and she just wants to run.

“I know of her. Who doesn’t, though?” Jongdae says, his tone so cold, and she freezes, even as the vampire cop cackles in amusement.

She stares at him and her heart swells in her chest.

She stares and stares and she barely registers Jongdae’s cold voice, his business-like words, while Kris yanks her out of the alleyway that holds her hole-in-the-wall home, dragging her even when she trips, trying in vain to catch Jongdae’s gaze somehow, to get an explanation somehow. She catches sight of Dahyun, in the shadows, her big eyes watching the scene in horror; she catches the other street kids staring, too. A crowd is gathering but no one will dare help her. Dasom blinks because she must look so pathetic, so hurt, especially when she’s barely fighting the grip on her arm. What’s the point in trying when she knows she can’t fight it?

Still, her eyes are pinned on Jongdae and she finds her breathing growing erratic, panicked, even as the words drift through on ear and out the other and it takes her too long to process exactly what Jongdae is saying, his voice booming, more for show than anything else, she knows.

“You’re under arrest for aiding and abetting a terrorist. We’re also investigating reports of you participating in illegal fights.”

Then Dasom says, “Jongdae, why?”

Her voice breaks.

Kris laughs and says, “You’re ing lucky your prestigious and kind soon-to-be mayor is even bothering to tell you why we’re taking you in, you filthy human.”

Kris looks at Jongdae and Jongdae nods, briskly, before he says, “All I ask is your cooperation. It’ll make everything easier for you,” Jongdae pauses, the moment too short for anyone to notice unless they’ve known him for a long, long time. Then Jongdae closes his eyes, briefly, before he opens it and he tacks on, “Human.”

Dasom slumps against Kris and her heart feels like it’s breaking into a million tiny shards.

a/n: Hopefully I can update this consistently since I have a substantial amount of it written and all of it completely planned out (OUTLINES ARE THE BEST THING EVER INVENTED LOL I CAN'T BELIEVE I'VE NEVER USED THEM TIL NOW)

anyways thank you soooo much to everyone who's been commenting! I love you guys!

also if jihyo and the oc seem like they have a lot of UST my bad kshjhsdjk, also did you catch that oh ah reference i love twice kdsbjn

xoxo as always I love to hear from you guys I hope you're all doing well! <3