FOUR


Breathing a sigh of exhaustion, and somewhat of relief, Taeyong stomps lazily up the staircase. With each languid step, a soft creak sounds out. Taeyong is not certain if this comes from his stiff, throbbing joints, or if it is a sign that the teetering wooden planks beneath his feet are about to crumble. Fearing that the latter might just result in his body having to endure further agony, he hastens his pace, jogging until his front door is in his line of sight. With a tired, half-hearted cheer, he pushes the door open and sluggishly waddles inside.

“Where have you been?” asks an all too familiar voice. The tone is tinged with bitterness, although the words are conflictingly comforting, like those spilling from the mouth of an anxious mother. Such descriptions are incredibly accurate when applied to Ten, who stands rigidly by the end of Taeyong’s bed, his slender arms crossed and his sparkling white teeth burrowing into his plump lower lip.
Adding fuel to the fire with his infamous sarcasm, Yuta mirrors Ten’s body language. “We’ve been worried sick all night!” he exclaims, struggling to control the smirk that so desperately desires a place upon his lips. He looks as though he has had very little sleep, which causes Taeyong to think he might have truthfully been consumed with concern all throughout the night. However, such a thought only lasts a short moment. Yuta’s expression is far too cheeky.

“I lost my phone,” Taeyong mutters. He is fatigued and cannot bother to offer any more of an explanation.

Ten rolls his gorgeous chocolate-filled irises as dramatically as he can. “Yes, we’re well aware. You’re lucky that the nice guy at the library was able to figure out where you were.”

“Nice guy at the li– wait, why bother asking where I’ve been if you knew all along?” Taeyong responds, flustered.

“I thought I’d give you a chance to explain yourself first.”

“When will you stop acting like you’re my mother?” Taeyong questions angrily, ears burning such a deep shade of red that one would expect steam to start pouring out madly from them at any second. He huffs like an antagonised bull ready to charge. Ten flinches. “I don’t need to answer to you, and I don’t need to explain my choices to you. I’m sick of your constant nagging, so stop pretending you know what’s best for me, because you don’t!”

The expression that settles into Ten’s features is one that Taeyong has not once witnessed prior. It is the epitome of emotional pain; glassy eyes doused with salty tear droplets, cheeks stripped of all healthy colours, lips quivering as the urge to cry uncontrollably begins to overrule all other sensations and feelings. Ten’s heart beat slows down as the amount of love within him shrinks, eventually vanishing, drawn into an abyss of nothingness. His vision blurs, colours draining to be replaced with the tediousness of black and white. He sniffles quietly and squeezes his eyes shut, blocking the image of Taeyong with an infinite stretch of darkness.
Taeyong’s stomach drops and his mouth becomes terribly dry. He extends a shaky hand. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Yes, you did,” Ten replies softly, wiping his tear-soaked face with a sleeve that is far too large for his arms. The oversized sweater, its droopy material swallowing his body, makes him seem more vulnerable. “I understand.”

Yuta grabs Taeyong as he attempts to chase after his best friend, an endless stream of apologies and explanations crowding his brain, filling it to the brim. Taeyong fights against Yuta’s strong grasp, but his effort is futile. He is too weary, and though his mind is wide awake, his body is starting to shut down. “Right now, you need to cool down and he needs some time alone. There’s no point in saying you’re sorry just yet. You’ll seem insincere and he won’t believe you. Give it time,” Yuta mutters.

“I crossed the ing line this time.”

“You cross the line every time, but he always comes crawling back because he knows that he has crossed a line, too.”

Taeyong yells. The sound is raspy and the vibrations it causes hurt his throat immensely, but he doesn’t stop. Obscenities stream out. Most of them are incoherent, muffled by the raw frustration and guilt tainting his speech.

“Listen, I know you’re upset, but I really need you to calm down. I need your help with another protest,” Yuta says suddenly. Though his voice is low and soothing, his words are prominently selfish.

Sneering, Taeyong shrugs him off and turns to face him. His pupils waver and his irises glow a frightening red. “No, I’m done with that . I wanted to change the world, yet all I’ve been doing is making things worse, tearing innocent people down.”

“Yesterday’s event was messy and terrifying, but it made an impact and it got people talking. It brought people of all shapes, sizes and shades together,” Yuta retorts with confidence. He takes a single purposeful step forward and very firmly plants his hands atop Taeyong’s shoulders. He trembles. “And don’t tell me you don’t want to meet that handsome younger fella again.”

Taeyong’s eyebrows raise and his forehead creases. He narrows his gaze, scrutinising. “How do you know about him?”

“The librarian was extremely helpful and assured me that you were in exceptionally safe hands. He also happened to let a very important secret slip out in general conversation.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Taeyong snaps, casting his eyes downwards. All of the sudden, his scuffed shoes seem oddly interesting.
Yuta drops his arms nonchalantly and stares at the door. “Oh, but I thought you’d be quite intrigued to hear that your new friend is a journalist, or rather, an aspiring one. It’s a fascinating line of work, and I heard that there were a lot of news firms striving to uncover the identities of the masterminds behind New York’s major protests.”

Taeyong is speechless, any potential responses stuck in his throat like poorly chewed chunks of food, so Yuta continues speaking. “The only way you’re going to find out more about him is through another protest. He’s not interested in the story of your life, he just wants to know why you’re organising events so large that they’re disrupting an entire city’s flow.”

“Another protest will just give him more of a lead, a better chance to completely obliterate the reputation I’ve built for myself,” Taeyong cries out, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. The whitish strands contrast against the perfectly pretty colour of his skin.

“But, it will also give you a chance to stop him. If you can make him believe you’re oblivious to his ploys, with no suspicions whatsoever, you can uncover as much of him as he uncovers about you. You can turn this all around.”

“Once this whole thing is over and done, I never want to hear you mention another protest again. Understood?”

Yuta grins audaciously and tilts his head. His silky hair flops messily across his face. “So you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

Outside, lingering awkwardly in the hallway and remaining fully unaware of the plans being constructed behind Taeyong’s nearly unhinged door, is a crazily blushing Ten. Though he had left the room speedily and with a face as pale as a ghost, he is now in no hurry to leave the building and can literally feel the pink tint returning to his cheeks. Towering over him is one of his seniors, a man with features that could be considered angelic and talents that should not go unrecognised. Very few people are lucky enough to run into him, to be blessed with the opportunity to inhale his splendid natural fragrance and gaze upon his beautifully shining face. Ten gulps apprehensively and swiftly dabs at his puffy eyes, immeasurably humiliated.

“Hi Johnny,” he says unsteadily. His voice comes out croakily, exaggerating his newly blocked nose. The moment the words spill out he wants to tuck his head inside his sweater, retreating like a shy turtle. He wishes he could swallow them back up.

Surprisingly, the taller male flashes a charming smile and reaches out to ruffle Ten’s hair with nothing but affection. “I’d love to stay and chat with you Ten, but I’m already late for class. I’ll see you at the party tonight though, right?”

“The party?”

“Yeah, it’s in the room at the end of the hall on the second floor, 8pm. You’re welcome to come,” Johnny explains, pushing his caramel hair away from his forehead with a single elegant gesture, “if Hansol asks, tell him I invited you.”

Ten composes himself just well enough to express a relaxed amount of excitement, but he breaks into a fit of sweetly childishly giggles once Johnny has disappeared, forgetting about his friendship troubles for just a moment.

Fingers tap melodically, lips purse to whistle a delightful tune and a head from side to side, matching a silent beat. Taeil combats the monotony of his casual job with music, singing theatrically only when he is certain that there is nobody nearby to hear him. He conjures lyrics up on the spot and imagines that there is a terrific guitar riff filling the almost empty building with an aura of joy and exhilaration. Eventually, he closes his eyes, and with a dorky smile tugging at his lips, immerses himself in a magnificent fantasy that goes unparalleled by any reality.
“Don’t get too relaxed. You’re still on the job, regardless of how many people are watching.”

Taeil’s eyes flutter open and he gasps, shocked by the closeness of Kun’s boyishly handsome features. He leans backwards and forces himself to chuckle, attempting to alleviate the awkwardness and cloak the spontaneous hysteria gnawing away at him. “Slacking off is not something I do often, I assure you.”

Kun laughs. It is a sound more beautiful than any song Taeil has ever heard. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he announces buoyantly, smirking and then bending to rummage through his dilapidated backpack. He yanks out a few books – those he borrowed from the library – and then a small square container, its contents difficult to distinguish through the misty material. Smiling, he pushes it closer to Taeil, whose brows furrow with sheer perplexity. “I made something for you. Open it!”

Taeil reaches for the container cautiously, hands trembling with anticipation. As he drags it closer to his chest, the scent of what waits inside grows stronger and stronger. It makes his mouth water and his pupils waver, embodying his sudden eagerness. When he tears the lid away, he inhales deeply, experiencing a new kind of ecstasy.

“I wanted to make something from one of these books,” Kun says sheepishly, gesticulating, “but they were taking too long to perfect, so I cooked you something that my Mum has been making for years. It’s called Nián Gáo.”

“Why?” Taeil blurts out.

Kun’s eyes widen exorbitantly. “Huh?”

“Why did you cook me something like this?”

“Oh,” Kun breathes out, hesitating. He peers down to fiddle with his fingers for a moment and then in a huge gust of air, as though he is packing his lungs with the essence of confidence. “Well, I thought you seemed sweet. And you’re really cute.”

Taeil blinks a few times, bewildered. Kun laughs anxiously and quickly continues. “And… I was hoping you’d be my friend. I don’t really know anybody around here and I’m trying my best not to get mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

“I’m not sure if I’m a part of the right crowd, but of course I’ll be your friend. You could’ve just asked, you didn’t need to put in so much effort,” Taeil replies, cheeks glowing a rosy shade of red, “but I appreciate it. Let’s enjoy this together once my shift is over.”

The happiness that spreads across Kun’s attractive face – the fresh sparkle emphasising the loveliness of his gaze – is something that Taeil knows he will never forget. For just a moment he dismisses the issues surrounding Jaehyun and the protests, focussing only on etching this marvellous image into his mind. Though he is wise, he does not detect the underlying intentions, too distracted by this fresh sense of bliss.

There is no place Jaehyun would rather be less than glued to a stiff plastic chair in a sweltering classroom, eyes watering as they struggle to remain open and hands becoming more uncomfortably clammy with every passing second. His lecturer has decided to go crazy with the nonsensical uttering of complete mumbo-jumbo, a speech consisting of totally irrelevant opinions and very few facts. With each word, the bald-headed Caucasian man becomes more rhapsodic, spiralling downwards into a pit of insanity, and it becomes increasingly evident that he has no plan to will his chapped lips shut any time soon. Jaehyun feels his soul slowly leaving his body as his brain starts to contemplate self-inflicted injuries as an excuse to escape the classroom. He also questions – just in a tiny subconscious corner of his mind – why all teachers over the age of forty seem to have no idea how to work the air-conditioning. It is as though people past a certain age have become numb, their creased skin toughened by so many years of exposure to the world’s harsh elements. If that is truly the case, Jaehyun cannot wait to grow old and senile so that he can effortlessly overlook the uncomfortable patches of sweat making his shirt and pants cling to his body.

When the class is finally dismissed, Jaehyun gathers his belongings and jolts out of the room with a sense of urgency, eager to inhale the freshness of the day’s subtle breeze. As the coolness hits his lungs – filling him with a new assortment of energy – he feels a smile creep onto his lips. It is not often that he can simply take a moment to close his eyes and focus on his breathing, sheltered from the flirtatious glances of pretty classmates who constantly twirl their hair, surrounded only by the soothing scents of blooming flowers planted neatly around the otherwise gloomy campus. In. Out. In. Out. With puckered lips, he lets out silent puffs, inhaling and exhaling unhurriedly until his breathing is even and his body is refreshed, sweat evaporating rapidly with the help of the wonderfully chilled breeze. Only the material by his armpits is still damp, but if he avoids walking around with his arms held above his head, it will remain invisible and his integrity will be protected for yet another day.

“Every time I see you, you look like you’re having some wild epiphany,” Doyoung says, his voice cracking with laughter. He stoops gracefully to pluck a flower from one of the garden beds and twirls gently it between his soft fingertips. His other hand rests comfortably inside the pocket of his suit pants, and he his head, inquisitive eyes observing each and every detail of the petite petals. Standing there with maturely styled hair and handsome attire, sunlight accentuating the flawlessness of his fair skin, he looks like a prince who has been snatched directly from a Japanese manga. The female students passing by gape at him, each secretly hoping to be the lucky person who receives the key to his heart. Unfortunately for them, the key has been missing for many long years now. His heart has already been claimed by a very special – and unknowing – individual.

Jaehyun strolls out from under the shade, frowning as the skin beats down upon him aggressively. The ladies coo almost inaudibly and watch curiously from afar, shocked by the realisation they are witnessing two beautiful, youthful men in such close proximity to one another. “What are you doing here?”

“Class finished early, so I thought I’d check on you. If I don’t keep a close eye on you, who will?” Doyoung responds, chuckling. He hands the flower to a short girl with a light splatter of freckles who is seemingly oblivious to the situation. She peers up at him, glasses slipping down her nose. Doyoung grins kindly and she immediately blushes, eyes widening extraordinarily as she takes in every inch of his splendidly sculpted features. After gulping loudly, she sprints away, pigtails fluttering behind her and books clutched tightly to her chest.

“You’re cruel,” Jaehyun mumbles. He is not sure if he is referring to Doyoung’s failure to trust him or the fact that Doyoung often ‘accidentally’ takes advantage of cute girls, but he knows the statement is true nonetheless. “You don’t need to keep watch over me.”

Doyoung shakes his head. “Of course I don’t,” he retorts casually, sticking his free hand into his pocket to mimic the position of the other, “but I feel as though I have partial responsibility for you and your actions. Law isn’t your forte, but it is mine. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t bless you with my knowledge in your time of need?”

“If you’ve come here to try convincing me how dangerous getting involved with Taeyong is, don’t bother, because I am already well aware. But, I really need this job. It’s my chance to prove myself and make it in the big leagues.”

Doyoung’s eyes change, reflecting the gears clanking around inside his head as he processes a cluster of twisted thoughts and possibilities. “We made a deal regarding police yesterday,” he says, each word enunciated with caution, “I want to change the conditions.”

Sighing, Jaehyun paces over to a vacant bench and plonks down heavily. His body does not strike a high number on the scales, but his stress weighs him down. He rubs his hand over the empty space beside him – grimacing when the splintered wood jabs under one of his cleanly trimmed fingernails – and waits for his friend to join him. “What are the new conditions?”

“You let me help you.”

“What about the police and your overwhelming desire for rectitude against social justice warriors?” Jaehyun quizzes, slight sarcasm in his tone.

Doyoung straightens his posture and nods resolutely. “I’ll agree to leave my desires in the back of the closet for a while, as long as you agree to let me contact police if the situation becomes serious. If you can obtain all the information you need without getting into trouble, and I can provide advice along the way, I will happily accept you and Taeyong parting ways peacefully after the deadline as the conclusion to this whole ordeal. I will not turn him in without reason.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaehyun says softly. He is unbelievably grateful, but fearful of dragging his best friend down with him. If Doyoung’s involvement in such a case is exposed, his future may be jeopardised.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I want to.”

A phone vibrates noisily, knocking against the bench from within someone’s pocket. Both young men reach out for their own device, checking the message. Doyoung shrugs as he is greeted by a blank screen, whilst Jaehyun’s expression changes noticeably, representing the sudden shock paralysing all logical thoughts.

“I’m sorry to ask for your guidance so soon,” whispers Jaehyun, holding his phone up to let Doyoung scan the text, “but how do I respond to being personally invited to the next protest?”
 

A/N: After a month, I have returned. I know that there is absolutely no explanation that can serve as an acceptable excuse as to why this chapter has taken so long to come out, but I do feel as though I need to share some kind of reasoning anyway. First, I lost all of my files, including all of my plans for this story, so I had to make up all of my characterisations, notes and plot possibilities again (this consisted of approximately 30 handwritten pages, without including the story chapters themselves). Then, I got incredibly sick, as a virus was spreading in my area and I just couldn't seem to avoid it. I also had assignments due (which are all finished now, thankfully) for my Certificate in Animal Studies, in addition to some major work days involving me having to care for a hundred or so dogs on my lonesome. There are a multitude of excuses, and I am so terribly sorry for having to use them. I am also incredibly grateful to see that the same people have remained subscribed and patient. I also apologise for any mistakes in this chapter, as the person who usually checks my work is no longer doing so; I will edit it over the upcoming days to fix anything obvious or nonsensical. 

I hope I can now stick to a plan of updating once every fortnight, and thank you again for sticking around.

Much love from me. Enjoy The Mugshot!