You.

Kim Mingyu stands on wobbly knees, blood dripping out of his thighs, wet hair causing water to flow down wounds, leaving a waterfall of picturesque blood trails.

You, the one I saw as I ascended into the white lights,

With visible effort, he lulls his legs forward, step by step, stale blood beginning to moisten, liquefy, and move within his veins.

You, the one who held me by the ankles with a gentle grasp, and shook his head,

The guy in the surgical dress soiled with blood and bodily fluids backs away, with each step, terrified, until his back hits the cabinet with a dull thud and he rubs his head with a wince.

You, the one who looked God in the eyes, and said, “Not him, not yet,”

Mingyu knows a chance when he sees it. As the man rubs his head, he’s caught off guard and Mingyu slams a bloody palm against the cabinet, effectively trapping the man against all 185 cm of his semi-dead body.

Why did you do it?

Mingyu opens his mouth to demand an answer, but unlike the first syllable he had uttered, the sentences on the tip of his tongue turn to unfound gibberish – that turn to hacking coughs. The blood and water and saliva mingle into a horrible cocktail that plagues his throat when he attempts to speak and his eyes water at the taste.

Without warning, he’s flipped over against his will with unforeseen expertise, face smashing into the cabinet, the surgeon’s warm body pinning him down.

It looks like I underestimated him.

“Look, I don’t know what you are, but you gotta let me go buddy,” the surgeon says, his voice a mishmash of low whispers and panting that never seems to catch up with each word.

Mingyu squirms impossibly against him and tries to kick away from cabinet, sending the both of them to the floor, now possibly dragging a metallic table full of surgical tools down with them.

“Stop moving!” The surgeon cries, trapping Mingyu despite being under him, his legs holding Mingyu in place, his back pressed against the floor. “You’re ruining your own evidence I need to know how you died!”

Mingyu’s still squirming while the surgeon’s got him caught in a slimy backhug on the ground, his thighs tackling the latter’s own. “I’m serious man you gotta stop-”

The surgeon’s palm presses down on the open wound across Mingyu’s left thigh in hopes of getting the zombie to stay in place, and it hurts like a, but all of a sudden, the door swings open, hitting the wall with a bang.

A man gapes at them wordlessly.

Mingyu stills, and so does the surgeon.

For a few, comical seconds, there is a pin drop silence that encases the room, and cradles it with delicate hands. His thigh is still exploding in pain as the hand stays there, and at some point of time, Mingyu decides he can’t take it anymore.

“Eeuugurts,” he grunts.

“Yoghurts?” The surgeon tries.

“-ucking hurts,” he manages to get out.

The man at the door promptly collapses.

-

Soonyoung wraps up yet another homicide report with a satisfying sigh, mouse clicking over the save button. He sends it to the regional police department’s email, without forgetting to type in a joke before his parting phrase.