She slips quietly through the door, looking around the main room with a jittery sense of desperation. He’s not here. She peeks into the kitchen, even though he never really cooks anything himself, but nothing. The bathroom light is off, but she looks anyway, in case he’s taking a bath in the dark, like he does when he’s sore and wants to relax. He’s not there. She approaches the bedroom with a forced sense of hope, like she’s trying to make his body materialize out of thin air through sheer force of will. But he’s not on his bed, nor is he in his walk-in closet. The only place left is the balcony.

It’s empty, like it’s been empty for the past three days. He’s not here.

She sits down on the end of the chaise and stifles a sob. She takes her phone out and hastily types in another text, even though she’s sent him one every hour he’s been gone.

were r u??? y r u not anseirng me?? u need to come home!! i miss u plese come hoem!!

She even ignores the squiggly red lines that highlight her spelling mistakes, hoping to entice him out of his silence just to admonish her for not taking better care in her writing. But it doesn’t make a difference. The message goes unread, just like the other fifty she’s already sent him.

She can’t take this separation, every hour it gets worse. She’s barely seen her parents since that night: her mother never has time for anything more than a hug and a kiss before she leaves early in the morning, while her father is in such a bad mood that she’s afraid to try talking to him. She’s asked him twice if they have anything to update about Hanbin, and twice he’s snapped at her that he has no updates.

Jisoo tells her not to take it personally, that he’s in a lot of pain because of the shooting. That doesn’t really make sense to her, because she’s certain that if he’s in that much pain, their doctor could just give him a pill and make it go away. But she doesn’t ask about that. Maybe he just doesn’t want to make the pain go away. Hanbin had told her that one time. That sometimes he likes to make himself feel the pain of an injury to its full extent, so it can make him tougher.

Maybe her dad needs to feel tough again after getting shot, and maybe he just doesn’t realize it’s making him so grumpy. So she won’t bother him anymore, no matter how much she wants to talk to him.

She’s thought about going to Junhoe, asking him if he has any news. Because she’s certain that if Hanbin were going to contact only one person in their family, it would either be her or Junhoe. Maybe he picked Junhoe because he needed his help with something that she couldn’t help with. But Junhoe hasn’t been in his room when she’s tried to see him, and he never seems to be eating when she eats.

The only person she’s left with is Jisoo, who is probably the least comforting person Hanbyul has ever met in her life.

She buries herself under Hanbin’s bear skin, pretending the heavy weight of the pelt is her brother, holding her and telling her a story after she’s woken up from a nightmare. Maybe she ought to bring the pelt back to her room until he returns, it might help her sleep. She’d just have to do it when Jisoo isn’t watching, because she knows her mentor would not approve.
 

Jisoo exits the suite she shares with her cousin, an irritated scowl on her face. Hanbyul is late for training, again. She’s been trying her best to be patient, but Hanbyul clearly has a personality very unlike her own, and trying to get them to mesh hasn’t been all that smooth.

A door across the hall opens suddenly and she sees Junhoe emerge into the hallway, looking tired. He notices her after a moment, looking up to meet her scrutinizing gaze. It almost sends him back through the door.

“Have you seen Hanbyul?” is Jisoo’s question, and Junhoe shakes his head.

“No, I’ve been sleeping until now.”

Jisoo lets out an angry huff of breath and leans against the wall. “I sent her to change for our workout but she never came downstairs. She’s not in our suite, so I thought maybe she’d decided to visit you instead.”

Junhoe has a pretty good guess of where Hanbyul is, but he’s not about to rat her out to Jisoo. “Maybe you missed her on her way down.”

“No, it’s been too long, she should have been five minutes at most. She’s really trying my patience.”

Junhoe frowns at her angry tone. “Can you blame her? This is a lot of for her to handle.”

“Yeah I’m aware of that, thanks,” Jisoo replies, highly irritated, “but just because her actions are to be expected, that doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed by them.”

Junhoe feels compelled to speak up on her behalf. “Someone tried to kill her dad and her brother has been abducted, and you expect her to act like nothing is going on? Hanbin is the most important person in her world, she’s probably terrified for him.”

“She doesn’t know he’s been abducted,” Jisoo replies.

Junhoe looks at her in shock. “You haven’t told her?”

“No, as far as she knows, he’s hunting for the person responsible for shooting Jeongju.”

“And our parents are okay with that?” Junhoe replies, feeling awkward when the word our just slips out. He sees Jisoo raise an eyebrow inquisitively, and he wonders if she thinks he’s stepped over a line in verbally claiming them as his own?

“Your parents don’t really have a say in the matter, it’s my decision what to tell her.”

“And you think lying to her is the right choice?” Junhoe asks.

“Well I can’t tell her the truth, Junhoe,” Jisoo answers, “she’d fall apart. Better for her to think he’s doing something, rather than having something done to him. She’s not strong enough to face that reality.”

“Of course she isn’t, she’s a kid!” Junhoe snaps back, and her words feel like a slap across the face. He’s not a kid either, but every minute that ticks by without news has him feeling like he’s moments away from falling apart.

“Age is irrelevant, how we’re raised shapes our behaviour at every turn. There’s a big difference between a four year old, and a ten year old. She should be able to handle more than she currently does.” She stares hard at him, like she knows what he’s thinking, like she can sense the impending wave of anger that’s about to come crashing out of him.

“Oh, so you’re saying that you think that Hanbin has done a poor job with her, then?” He bites back, incensed at her accusation.

“Absolutely,” Jisoo replies, matter-of-fact. “But that’s also not a fair judgement for me to make, since I haven't known her very long. Maybe she just has a weak spirit, and she’s already made a lot of progress. All I know is that she has far more progress to make.”

Junhoe glares at her, even though he knows, deep down, that there is some truth to what she’s saying. “Just don’t be too hard on her.”

“I’ll do what I judge is right, so don’t be too concerned.”

At that moment the door across from his creeps open, and Hanbyul emerges from Hanbin’s suite, eyes downcast and looking guilty. He wonders if she overheard their conversation, or if Jisoo’s voice alone is what’s drawn her out.

Jisoo doesn’t give her a chance to inquire about anything she might have overheard. “Kim Hanbyul! You were supposed to meet me for training twenty minutes ago. Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” Hanbyul replies with a shrug, “I lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time?” Jisoo repeats, shaking her head. “There was no time to lose track of! I told you to come up and change and then meet me right away for training. You know this means we’ll spend an extra hour working, right? Because you decided that you had better things to do.”

Hanbyul whines in protest and crosses her arms over her chest. “I just wanted to see if he came back!”

“You will be told when he gets back, so stop looking for him. Now let’s go.” Jisoo pushes away from the wall and heads for the elevators, while Hanbyul looks at Junhoe, who reaches out to pat her head.

“You know you shouldn’t push her, right? She’s your boss these days, Byul. You have to do what she tells you.”

She looks at him with her black eyes, Hanbin’s eyes, and he feels another little piece of himself crumble away.

“Why didn’t he send me a message, at least? He hasn’t even read them. Why isn’t he reading them?”

Junhoe’s a terrible liar, and he’s tempted to tell her the truth. But he can’t outright contradict Jisoo, so he replies in the best way he can, with an answer that technically isn’t even a lie. “Maybe he’s just not able to look at his phone.”

“But can’t the police look for the shooter? Why does he have to do it?”

He looks down the hall, wonders why Jisoo hasn’t called for Hanbyul yet. He needs someone to save him from this conversation before he says too much. “I don’t know, Byul.”

“What if mom tells him to come home? She runs the country, he’d have to listen to her.” She looks and sounds so desperately heartbroken that Junhoe can’t stop himself from kneeling down beside her and wrapping her in a hug.

“I’m sure he’s got his reasons, Byul. All we can do is wait for him, and keep doing the things we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Kim Hanbyul! Get over here!” Finally Jisoo yells, all the way from the elevator.

Hanbyul looks pleadingly up at him. “Can I sleep in your room tonight? Please? I miss him and I’m scared.”

Junhoe wants to say yes, wants to try and give the kid that tiny bit of comfort at least. But he doesn’t trust himself to not cave in to her infinite questions. “You’ll have to ask Jisoo if you can.”

“She’ll say no,” Hanbyul whispers back to him, and Junhoe wonders then if Jisoo isn’t right after all. Hanbyul needs to be tougher, for her own sake.

“Probably, but you know she’s the boss. Anyway you better go. I’ll see you for dinner, okay?” She nods and then takes off down the hall, and he stays where he is and watches her go.

He wishes he had someone to tell him what to do, to give him some daily routine to follow. Not that it would help much right now, since his arm is still healing and he’s limited in his ability to train. But he can’t take much more of just sitting around, doing nothing except sleeping the days away.

He stands up and looks at the door to Hanbin’s suite. Without thinking about it he reaches out and grabs the handle, quietly slipping into the room. He pauses for a moment, leaning against the door, eyes roaming around the room. He remembers when he and Hanbin and Hanbyul all lived here together, remembers how different everything looked. It makes him feel lonely now, being in his own space.

He walks down the hall towards the bedroom, and he can’t help but think about how badly he wants Hanbin back. Everyone is full of short fuses and bad tempers, made worse by the enforced house arrest and complete lack of news. Worst of all is Jeongju. Of course half of it is to be blamed on their recoveries, they’re both terrible patients. Junhoe acknowledges it, so he tries to not be in the same room as his adoptive father.

Because even though Jeongju hasn’t said anything of the sort, Junhoe is certain that given the opportunity, he’d swap their places in a heartbeat, sacrificing his adopted son for his biological son. Junhoe wouldn’t even blame him for it. He might be afforded the semblances of being family, but in the end, even Jisoo is more family to Jeongju than Junhoe is.

He makes it out to the balcony, and immediately he sees the only thing that appears to have been touched lately. Hanbin’s bear skin, lying in a heap at the end of the chaise. He picks it up and drapes it across his shoulders, then stands against the railing, looking out at the streets below.

If he looks for it, he can see the shimmer of the holograph that hides their balconies and windows from view. To the eye, the Legion building is two floors shorter than what it actually is. The laboratory floor and the family floor, along with the temple on top of the building, are all hidden behind the veil of technology. He’s grateful for the masquerade at a time like this, when he’s standing on Hanbin’s balcony, wearing his pelt, and looking for all the world like he might crumble apart at any second.

He watches the cars and the people from up high, sees the sky train tracks that are further away, trains keeping their busy schedules regardless of how many passengers are waiting. Life outside this building is continuing on as normal, with no one any the wiser about Hanbin’s disappearance. It makes him feel hopeless, and useless.

The reality exists that they might never find him. Or if they do, he might be dead. He can’t cope with that thought, can’t accept a reality in which Hanbin won’t be hovering at his shoulder, teasing him and pushing him to do better. He can’t accept a world in which his best friend isn’t at his side.

Maybe Jisoo is right in not telling Hanbyul the truth.

He wishes he didn’t know the truth either.
 

It’s been at least three days, is what he figures. Maybe more, maybe less, it’s hard to tell. Time stretches too far with nothing to distract him, and since the lights never turn off he can’t even trust in Jiwon’s erratic patterns of sleep to tell the day from the night. He tries to engage Jiwon in conversation whenever he can, but he has to be careful about it. Too much, and there’s a good chance Jiwon might clam up on him. It’s difficult not to demand constant attention.

He’s pretty certain it’s been at least a day since Jiyong and Youngbae have been here, only because it feels like it’s been longer. Of course the waiting is all a part of their plan, exhausting him with such lengthy periods in between minutes-long visits. He wonders if there’s something else they’re trying to achieve with the short and sporadic visits?

His legs are finally starting to cause him concern, because no matter how many times he stretches them, his knees are always aching, like the joints are swollen. His arms are constantly numb, which is his biggest concern. He keeps looking at his skin, trying to keep track of the colour. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for. Would his fingers turn blue from lack of blood flow? Or is that only from the cold? Unless cold causes a lack of blood flow, which is responsible for the colour? It’s getting harder to think, sometimes he doubts things that he knows for a fact because they don’t sound plausible. So how is he supposed to determine things that he doesn’t know for a fact?

Another thing he can’t be certain of is the shifting temperature in the room. He thinks his toenails are turning blue, but he can’t be sure. The cold concrete is making everything worse, and no matter how many times he tries to warm his feet up against his legs, it doesn’t help. What body heat he has left doesn’t appear to be transmitting through his clothing.

He hasn’t had any water in the past day, not since Jiwon had to help him piss. Hanbin hasn’t wanted to try pushing his luck, because he’d rather keep things peaceful between them. How long is it that a person can survive without water? Three days? Or was it seven? He’s certain he knows the answer, but it feels like his brain is playing hide and seek with him.

While he’s trying to decipher the information locked away in his head, he hears an unexpected rhythm playing out, a familiar tapping that he can’t place at the moment, not until someone he doesn’t recognize comes walking into the room.

Footsteps. His brain didn’t recognize the sound of footsteps. That’s a sobering realization as to how bad things are getting for him. Has he really degenerated that quickly? He watches as Jiwon suddenly jumps up out of his chair, surprised eyes on their visitor.

“What are you doing here?” Jiwon had been dozing off at the table, bored out of his mind.

Byunghoon looks at him with a frown. “Open the cell, Jiwon.”

Jiwon moves to the bars, not thinking twice before doing as he’s told. He feels like he can’t think straight, he’s certain it’s from the boredom and trouble sleeping. And maybe also a bit from the pain in his back, too. All of it is messing with his head.

“Why are you here?” But still he can’t help but question the doctor about his surprise appearance. He wants to ask for some pain medication, maybe some sleeping pills too.

“That’s none of your concern, now move.” Once the cell is unlocked Byunghoon enters, and Jiwon backs away until he touches the wall.

The doctor looks Hanbin over, frowning as he touches him. “Have you let him down at all?”

“Of course not!” Jiwon replies defensively. “He’s on the wall all the time.”

Byunghoon reaches out and grabs Hanbin’s fingers, pressing against the fingernail. Jiwon wants to keep asking him what he’s doing, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s just hard to think. It’s been getting tough to look at Hanbin because every time he does, it feels like he’s looking worse. Jiwon wonders what it is they’re waiting for. The fact that Byunghoon is here has him concerned, though he’s not sure what the concern is for. Hanbin’s well being? But why should he be worried for Hanbin?

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kim?” Byunghoon asks, pressing fingers against Hanbin’s throat to count his pulse.

“Are you a doctor?” Hanbin asks, curious about the stranger's intrusion and purpose.

“Please answer my question.”

Hanbin doesn’t reply right away. Byunghoon finishes taking his pulse but instead of moving his fingers, he probes around Hanbin’s neck, checking for damage from the attempted strangulation. Hanbin waits until he’s done before answering. “If you are a doctor, then why don’t you tell me how you think I’m feeling? You have my vitals, you know what’s going on with me.”

Byunghoon ignores the response. “Do you have any feeling in your arms?”

Hanbin wonders whether he ought to bother answering. What’s the purpose of this medical checkup? To assess if he’s ready for their questioning? Or is he actually here to assess his overall status?

Byunghoon repeats the question. “Do you have any feeling in your arms?”

“Not anymore.” Hanbin decides to give honest answers.

“How are your knees?”

“Sore, and stiff.”

“Your feet?”

Hanbin looks down at his feet, wonders again if he’s imagining the blue tint. “Cold.”

“Are you experiencing any headaches?”

“Not until today.”

“Any dizziness, or lightheadedness?”

“No.”

“When is the last time you’ve had any water?”

Hanbin shrugs. “I couldn’t tell you, since I don’t have any way to keep track of the time.”

“Jiwon?” Byunghoon looks over his shoulders, but Jiwon shrugs as well.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Byunghoon replies, hardened eyes settling on Jiwon. “You’re supposed to be giving him food and water on a regular basis. Did they not tell you to do that, and document the details?”

Jiwon frowns at the question, and for a moment he wonders if they had and he’s just forgotten? But no. He’s sure of it. “No, I wasn’t told to do any of that.”

Byunghoon turns back towards Hanbin. “He’s dehydrated, he needs fluids.” His eyes meet Hanbin’s and they hold one another’s gaze for a while before Byunghoon withdraws a syringe from a pocket of his coat. He takes the protective cap off the end. “I am very curious about you, Mr. Kim. I look forward to studying you, there are many mysteries we hope to unlock.”

“You won’t get your answers,” Hanbin replies, his eyes on the syringe. He doesn’t mean to stare at it, because he doesn’t want Byunghoon to think he’s afraid of it. But he can’t seem to control his eyes. A moment later and the hand moves, and he feels a prick against his neck when the needle pierces his skin. He wonders what’s in the syringe, what the doctor might possibly be injecting into his system. He’s not about to ask, probably wouldn’t even get a straight answer.

The doctor smiles back at him. “We’ll see about that. Youngbae will be very persuasive, and if you don’t wish to speak to him, then I have my own ways of making a man talk. Either you’ll talk willingly, or you won’t even realize that you’re talking at all. Ask Jiwon about how persuasive my own methods can be. I’m sure he won’t mind telling you.”

Jiwon bristles at the comment. Telling Hanbin about Byunghoon isn’t really something he’s keen on doing, not even if he is dying from boredom. He watches as Byunghoon finishes with Hanbin and leaves the cell, stopping in front of him.

“And how are you? I see you haven’t been taking your pills lately. I can’t imagine that’s been going well for you, has it?”

Jiwon meets the doctor’s withering stare, refusing to look weak in front of him. “I didn’t bring them with me, I didn’t know I’d be away this long.”

Byunghoon nods, and reaches into his jacket, pulling out a bottle from the inside pocket. “Since I’m feeling generous, I’ve brought some along with me. It’s vital that you stay on top of your job while you’re here, so I don’t want you distracted by pain. But if you don’t do your job properly, then I might cut your doses. That’s up to you.”

Jiwon’s eyes are glued to the bottle, desperate to reach out and rip it from his hand. The pain in his back has been constant since the last time he slept, and he’s been desperate to make it disappear.

“How have you been sleeping without your pills? I hear you’ve been having nightmares again, I can see the evidence, as well.”

Jiwon has to stop himself from covering up his neck, has to pinch his arms to keep his hands occupied. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Byunghoon replies, and it makes Jiwon’s skin crawl. “Not that it really matters anymore. I have different pills for you to take. These will keep you awake instead of sleeping. It’s something new I’m testing, I want to see how long you can go before any adverse side effects emerge.”

Jiwon glares at the new bottle. It seems like the only thing he’s good for is testing the doctor’s theories and experiments. He reaches out to take the bottle. He doesn’t want to be awake the entire time he’s here, not with nothing to do!

“Take one of these a day, and keep notes about how you feel. The more detailed the better, I’ve brought you a journal to fill out. I’ll know if you’re not doing it on a daily basis, Jiwon. Don’t make me punish you for not following my instruction. I have a lot of money invested in you, don’t forget that.”

Byunghoon heads for the door, leaving a flushed Jiwon leaning against the wall and feeling a mixture of anger and shame. He wishes they hadn’t had that discussion right in front of Hanbin.

“Take those pills, Jiwon, and make sure you take proper care of our guest. You won’t have any visitors until tomorrow.”

Jiwon doesn’t reply, doesn’t even move, just listens for the clang of the garage door closing, leaving him alone with Hanbin once more. He holds both pill bottles in his hand, squeezing them tightly, barely able to suppress the urge to hurl them at the opposing wall. He doesn’t move for a while, too angry to do anything other than stand and burn in his own rage. Hanbin doesn’t say anything, but Jiwon still can’t bring himself to look at him. He knows Hanbin is going to ask him about Byunghoon. He heard everything, and he’s always so curious.

Finally he peels himself off of the wall and walks over to the table, laying both bottles down. He sees the journal left behind, and feels angry all over again at having to fill it out. He sits down and pops the lids off of both bottles, extracting one of each type. He reaches for his water and downs the pain reliever first, sitting with his eyes closed as he waits for the burning in his back to subside. It’s fast-acting, and within minutes the pain is gone. He takes the other pill then, wondering how it’ll make him feel. Will he just not get tired? Or will it hop him up, like a never-ending shot of pure adrenaline?

He finally looks at Hanbin, who’s watching him intently. Their eyes meet and Jiwon remembers the other request from Byunghoon, that he’s supposed to be feeding Hanbin. He doesn’t want any part of that, but he’ll give him some water, at least. He grabs a bottle and stands up from the table, approaching the cell slowly.

Hanbin watches him, curious about the pills, but more curious about the doctor. How does he broach this conversation without pushing Jiwon completely away?

Jiwon stands in front of him and slowly uncaps the bottle. “You want some water?”

Hanbin nods, wondering if Jiwon is actually going to let him have a proper drink, or if he’ll try to drown him in it again. But Jiwon pours it slowly into his mouth, and Hanbin gratefully drinks his fill. Jiwon doesn’t move away when he finishes, and Hanbin waits for him to speak first before saying anything.

“Well?” Jiwon finally says, “are you going to ask, or not?”

“About what?” Hanbin replies, though of course he knows. He can’t rush it, can’t push him right now. Jiwon is too wound up, too irritated by the doctor’s visit. He’s certain that if he pushed, Jiwon would only snap at him. Best to let him bring the topic up.

“I know you want to ask about him, about what he’s done to me. You heard our conversation.” Jiwon’s fingers flex tightly around the plastic bottle, wanting to crush it. But there’s still water in it, so instead he just twists the cap back on to it.

So there’s the invitation, laid out freely. Hanbin still hesitates, almost like he’s momentarily forgotten what it was he’d overheard. But then his thoughts clear up, and he thinks back to the burning question he’s had from the very beginning. How is Jiwon walking? He knows that he’d left him with a broken spine in the pit, and while there are doctors who can fix that level of damage, he never would have thought the Death Brigade would have someone capable of that level of work.

“You’re right, I do want to ask,” Hanbin begins, speaking slowly in a bid to try and keep his comments reined in, “but do you want to answer my questions?”

Jiwon looks at him suspiciously, wondering about his motives. “Not really, but if I have to be awake the entire time I’m here now, I guess I might as well get used to talking to you more. So go ahead, ask me.” He can’t keep the bite out of his tone, like he’s speaking with sharp fangs instead of blunt teeth.
 

“Okay. How did he fix your back? I left you with a broken spine in that fight, I was surprised to see you walking.”

Jiwon can’t help the blast of rage at Hanbin’s words, because there’s just something entirely different about hearing someone admit to doing a malicious deed to your face. It makes the hurt more raw. “You purposefully paralyzed me!” He snarls at him. “It wasn’t enough to just beat me, and leave me without killing me! But you left me alive, and took away my ability to build myself up again. All for what?” He gets up in his face, angry, tempted to crush the bottle against the side of his head.

“I don’t know,” Hanbin replies, “that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? My dad wanted to know what would happen to you, what Jiyong would do, and I did what he asked me to do.”

“Such an obedient ing puppy, aren’t you?” Jiwon replies, and for some reason it hurts on another level right now. He hasn’t thought about his parents in a long time, but he can’t help but think about them now. Hanbin did what he’d done because his father had asked him to. Jiwon wishes he still had a father to answer to, and the jealousy he feels towards Hanbin swirls around like a maelstrom in his gut.

Hanbin isn’t bothered by the jab because he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with doing what his father asks him to do. He’d gladly follow any requests. He might question them now, because they’re technically on equal levels. But even if he disagreed, he’d still do his father’s bidding, at least in this sort of situation. Because it’s the right thing to do, as a son. “I won’t apologize for following orders,” he replies, “but I do apologize for having to follow them. You understand that, don’t you? Unless your father doesn’t approve of you being in the Death Brigade?” Hanbin knows that Jiwon’s father isn’t alive, but he decides to play ignorant, just to see where it leads them.

Jiwon drops the bottle and instead slams his palms into the wall on either side of Hanbin’s face. “My father is ing dead!” He yells, momentarily lost in the anger. “He died when I was a kid.” What the is Hanbin playing at?! Bringing up his family. But when he looks at Hanbin’s eyes he sees a look of genuine surprise, and remorse. He backs away from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know your dad was dead,” Hanbin says, and he notices the way that Jiwon calms slightly at the words. “I don’t recall ever hearing you talk about your family in interviews, I didn’t realize he might not be alive.”

“Yeah, well, the Death Brigade is my family now, because everyone else in my family died that day.” He backs away and leans against the bars, trying to calm down. He’s surprised when he looks at him again, when he catches the soft expression of sympathy that looks so absolutely foreign on Hanbin’s face.

“How did they die?” Hanbin asks, even though he knows the answer to that question too. Gang warfare. None of it involved the Legion, of course, it had just been the result of two minor gangs arguing over boundaries. A dozen civilians caught in the cross-fire.

Jiwon contemplates what to do. Part of him wants to end the conversation, because he doesn’t like talking about his family. But there’s something about the moment that makes him feel like opening up old wounds. He doesn’t know what telling Hanbin will accomplish, but he feels compelled to do it. “They were shot, we were out on the street, they had a food stall they sold at. I had a brother, Jiun, he was older than me. And one day, all of a sudden, like out of nowhere, these guys showed up and just opened fire. My whole family got hit, everyone except for me. Me and this other kid, who was out with his family, we were the only two people on that street who didn’t get shot.”

Hanbin can’t believe he’s getting the story, he hadn’t been expecting Jiwon to give him the details. Is it a sign that Jiwon doesn’t feel threatened by him anymore? Is he finally burrowing in under his barriers? “What happened to you after that? You and that other kid?”

Jiwon focuses on him again, searches his face for the tiniest sign of bull. Does he actually care about the story? Is the sympathy real? Or is he just trying to any information possible out of him to use against him later?

Does it even matter? It’s a way to pass the time, after all. “That other kid was Donghyuk.”

Hanbin feigns surprise. “The guy who comes out to the pit with you sometimes?”

Jiwon nods, a little surprised that Hanbin recognizes him by his first name after all. “Yeah, that one. He’s younger than me, so I took care of him for a few years. We didn’t have any extended family we could go back to, so we lived on the street. It was tough, no one wants to help street kids.”

Hanbin knows that as an ugly truth about society. There are so many people who struggle, and so many people who can help them, but choose not to. “So, how did you end up getting involved with a gang yourself? Don’t take this the wrong way, but if gangs killed your families, why would you join one?” Hanbin tries to voice the question in as non-judgemental a way as possible, and he hopes it’s enough to placate Jiwon’s potential offense. He desperately wants to bridge this conversation.

“What other option did we have?” Jiwon retorts, angry but also with a touch of guilt. He’s never really thought of that. Gangs took everything away from him, but then a gang also gave it all back to him. He gained a new family. But he’s also continued the cycle, hasn’t he? How many kids has he left orphaned after taking out their parents? How many families has he put on the street after bombing their homes or businesses? It’s a sobering realization that he’s continuing the cycle of violence after being a victim to it. He looks back at Hanbin, who’s looking at him with a touch of pity, like he can guess where Jiwon’s very thoughts have reached. “What other option did we have? We didn’t have educations because we couldn’t go back to school, we weren’t old enough to work at first, and then when we were, no one would hire us!”

“I’m not coming down on you for it,” Hanbin replies, worried at losing Jiwon’s trust over the topic, “you’re right, to a degree. What else was there for you? You had to do what you could to survive. How old were you when you finally joined?”

“Fourteen,” Jiwon replies, “we spent six years living on the street, fighting dogs for food, taking things out of the garbage. And then one day Teddy found us, and he offered us a place. I’ll never forget that first night. Having a shower with actual soap and shampoo, and a clean towel to dry off. I hadn’t had that in years. He gave us clean clothes, new ones, without any holes or rips. The kind of you take for granted, until you go a few years without it. We got to eat a proper meal for the first time in a long time, and we didn’t have to steal it, it was given to us. We got to sleep on real beds. Who the would turn that down?” He has this thought in the back of his head, this screeching warning siren that he’s gone and said way too much, but he can’t stop himself.

He wants Hanbin to understand what he’s gone through, where he’s come from. He wants him to understand why it all happened, why he did everything he’s done, how he became the person he is today. Hanbin’s entire upper crust society looks down on him and others like him, but they don’t understand the history, they don’t know the stories.

Hanbin holds his gaze, and the sympathetic look he’s wearing isn’t even fake. It’s easy to brush off the hard history of your enemy when you read about it, but hearing the details face to face, seeing all of that long-held pain in their eyes, that’s something entirely different. It moves you in a way you haven’t been moved until that moment.

“I guess that’s why you were so close to Teddy, isn’t it? He saved you from that hellish childhood, gave you some hope after so many years without any.”

Jiwon bristles at the question. It feels wrong to discuss the topic of Teddy with Hanbin, when his father was the one who took Teddy’s life. It brings Jiwon back to that day, to that match. He’d been just at the start of his career, successful in three fights so far, b with confidence and arrogance. He’d been certain that Teddy would come out of the match on top, that it would be Teddy standing in victory, while Germanicus would be the one laying in defeat.

It’s surprising, really, that he never had a single nightmare after watching Germanicus cut Teddy’s chest open and squeeze his heart until he expired. He saw it all happen with his own eyes, in person. How did he manage to come out of that gruesome scene mostly unscathed, but now he’s been undone entirely by his own near-death experience? He wants to reach out with his hands and take revenge for his old mentor, he wants to bash Hanbin’s face into the wall until blood and bone scatter the floor. He wants to take Hanbin’s life in exchange for the one taken from him.

But it wasn’t Hanbin’s fault. He hadn’t even been there to watch, he was still being hidden away inside their building, their secret weapon in waiting.

He and Teddy have this in common, now. They’ve both been taken out by Hanbin and his father. Caligula and Germanicus. The parallel is unsettling.

He turns away from Hanbin, presses his cheek against the bars instead. He can’t hide the pain on his face, can’t hide the hurt that’s always been there, crammed into a shrinking spot with every passing day. Suddenly the feelings are out in the open again, they’re emerging from their own deep sleep and attacking him at the most inopportune of times.

At least Teddy got an end, at least he got to die honourably, the way fighters are supposed to die. Jiwon is still stuck among the living, still plagued by all his demons.

Hanbin worries the second Jiwon turns away from him, wondering if he’s caught him reliving too much. “Jiwon?” He softly calls. “I’m sorry for asking.”

Sorry? Jiwon’s thoughts all come to a halt right at that moment and he looks down at his hands. Byunghoon said that no one would come to see them for a day. What’s stopping him? An eye for an eye, a death for a death. He could kill Hanbin now and leave, he could run. He could even run to his own death, he could do for himself that which Hanbin had not had the heart to do.

Hanbin watches him and tries not to get his hopes down at the moment. He’s made huge progress with Jiwon, has gained actual trust. And now it might all come crashing down around him. So he can’t push any further, he has to let Jiwon have his own time to think everything through. He’d always known they shared a parallel, especially now, but he’d never really thought about the consequences of that. He’d never really thought about—

sharp pain in his chest that has him lunging away from the wall, a shuddering gasp dragged out of his throat

Jiwon hears the noise and looks over his shoulder, surprised to see Hanbin surging forward, eyes wide and face white. He’s rooted to the spot at the unexpected behaviour, confused about the cause. A moment ago Hanbin had looked fine. But now something is going on, and Jiwon can’t make himself move, can’t make himself talk. All he can do is watch in confusion while Hanbin struggles.

The pain in his chest dulls a little and Hanbin sinks back against the wall, but a moment later he feels the same sharp pain in his temple, right behind his eyes, and he closes them against the bright glare of the overhead light. He’s never felt such an intense blast before. He’s been in pain more times than he can remember, for training, but nothing has ever felt like this. It’s unnatural, like someone is jabbing needles into his spine.

Mere seconds later and he feels a numbness begin to spread down from his head, feels it drop from his shoulders to his chest, down his back, into his hips, across his thighs. When it finally reaches his knees, that’s when his legs give out completely on him and he drops down, legs twisting underneath him, suspended by his wrists. It twists his shoulders painfully, despite having no real feeling in his arms. Without meaning to he whimpers, overcome by the sensations.

He’s been in pain like this before, not of the same sort, but of a similar threshold. But he’s never uttered a sound, has always internalized every ounce of the feelings, never letting it take on a voice of its own. But he can’t stop the whimpering, can’t contain the sound. He wonders if it’s some side effect of whatever drug he’s been given, or if his subconscious is trying to elicit sympathy from Jiwon? He doesn’t actually feel like he’s in control of himself at the moment.

“Hanbin?” Jiwon finally speaks, turning around to face him. Everything about this moment feels wrong, it feels alien, like it shouldn’t be happening. “What’s wrong with you?”

Hanbin looks up at him, gasping and struggling to get his feet under him. But he can’t move his legs, like every part of his body has fallen asleep—except his pain receptors. He knows that he can’t stay like this, the pressure on his shoulders is too much, it’s going to cause permanent damage. He can barely keep his head up to look Jiwon in the eyes, and he has trouble trying to force words out of his mouth.

“I can’t, I,” he knows what he wants to say, but for some reason he can’t form the words. He can see them there, in his mind, can read them, but he can’t speak them out loud.

Jiwon approaches him and kneels down, reaching out to touch his arm. “What the is going on? If you’re just ing around, nothing good is going to come out of this.”

“No,” Hanbin replies, his legs shaking as he tries to will himself to stand, “help me.”

Jiwon is surprised at the sudden request. Help is not something usually asked for where he’s from. “Help you what?” But he has no idea what Hanbin is even asking him for.

“I need,” Hanbin tries again, but his brain feels like it’s being attacked by bright flashes, even when he closes his eyes against them. It’s such a struggle just to think. “Help.”

Jiwon reaches out and grabs his face, holding his chin until Hanbin opens his eyes again. His pupils are dilated, and his face is noticeably paler than usual. Jiwon actually feels a little spooked looking at him. “What do you want me to help you do?” He asks, moved by his own curiosity.

“Stand.” Hanbin gets out, shuddering at the pain in his shoulders. To his surprise he feels Jiwon’s arms encircle his back and haul him up. Immediately the pain in his shoulders lessens, though it continues to course down his legs and into his head.

Jiwon isn’t sure what moved him to do it. The shock of the situation, or maybe just the fact that Hanbin, proud and strong and always in control, simply asked him for help. Jiwon never asks for help, isn’t used to anyone asking him for help. It’s a sign of weakness where he’s from. But Hanbin unabashedly asks for it, like he’s not ashamed, and for some reason that makes him want to help him. So he supports Hanbin’s entire weight with his own body.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He asks, still confused.

“The needle,” Hanbin gasps, hopes it was coherent enough to be understood.

Of course! “Byunghoon,” he says softly, and he’s flooded by memories of the doctor’s expectations in return for his aide. “That ing .”

Byunghoon, Hanbin repeats the name in his head, hopes he can remember it later. That must be the doctor, of whom Jiwon is clearly not a fan. He’s so weak at the moment that he leans his head against Jiwon’s shoulder without thinking about it, because he can’t even keep his neck straight. He’s been under the influence of a lot of drugs, done willingly to build up his pain tolerance, but this is something he’s never felt before. It’s like his bones are on fire, but his muscles are all fast asleep. He’s completely devoid of strength.

Jiwon stiffens the moment he feels Hanbin’s head fall against him. It’s such a bizarre situation, willingly holding up his sworn enemy. Maybe he’s only doing it because of the unfair circumstances. Hanbin had been perfectly capable of standing on his own earlier, and now one shot from Byunghoon has him hanging limply. If he’d just naturally lost his strength, he wouldn’t be helping him. But this isn’t fair.

Then again, Hanbin had clearly held some unfair advantage over him in the pit during their fight. The way that it seemed like he could see out of the back of his head, the way the electric shock spear hadn’t hurt him. Jiwon thinks about that every now and then, and maybe it’s an odd thing to focus on, but it’s what bothered him the most. Maybe because the shock spear was his weapon, something he’d found on the street and brought into the fight himself.

Maybe now is a good time to finally get an answer. Then again, Hanbin seems to be having trouble speaking at the moment, so would he even get an answer? But still, maybe he could try bartering information in exchange for help. Tell me what modifications they did to you, and I’ll help you stand. It makes him feel a little like he’s the doctor now, dangling the pain medication over his head.

Hanbin closes his eyes again, because those mental white flashes are back. He’s not naturally prone to headaches, and he only gets them when he’s doing intense training. He’s never had a migraine before, but Junhoe had suffered from one once, after taking a misplaced shot to the head during a sparring match. Hanbin had felt so guilty about it that he’d stayed with him during his recovery, and Junhoe had explained the migraine to him like angry white lights that are still there when he closes his eyes.

The pain hadn’t stopped until the doctor had done a minute surgery to relieve pressure buildup on his brain. Hanbin hadn’t asked at the time, but he’d overheard his father talking to the doctor about it. It had been one of those situations that had reinforced in him the need for precision. And of course, it’s only fitting now that he’s experiencing the same thing Junhoe had experienced, but without him. But even though he doesn’t have Junhoe, he has Jiwon.

He actually has Jiwon! The one tiny speck of positivity in this entire situation. He’d begged for help and Jiwon had given it in an instant. There had been some hesitation, of course, but once he’d believed the desperation he’d reached out and helped. It’s a good sign. He doesn’t know how long Jiwon will be willing to keep it up for, but it’s a good start.

“Hey, Hanbin?” Jiwon asks, arms still tight around him.

“Yeah?” Hanbin answers in a low voice, half muffled into Jiwon’s neck.

“Can I ask you something?”

Hanbin can barely stay focused on Jiwon’s voice, the pain is so intense. “Sure.”

“When we had our match, and I hit you with that electric prod, why didn’t it hurt you?” He speaks the question and waits, but Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. “I figured since I’m helping you, maybe you could help me by answering a question.”

Hanbin weighs his options. Of all the things he’s asked, at least it’s a safer one for him to answer. He can’t blame Jiwon for dangling help over his head. “If I don’t answer?” He asks, just to clarify Jiwon’s intention.

“Then I don’t help.” Would he really just drop him again? Let him dangle in pain, whimpering like some wounded animal caught in a trap? He’s not sure he could handle hearing it, or seeing it. It’s weird, because on one hand he wants to kill Hanbin himself, wants to choke the life out of him. On the other hand, he wants to help him, because none of this is really his fault. It’s always someone else calling the shots, someone higher up making the decisions that leave people like the two of them suffering in the end.

He expected that answer out of Jiwon, but wanted to confirm anyway, just to be sure. He just doesn’t know how he’s going to manage explaining anything in his current state, it’s so difficult to think. Everything in his brain is focused on trying to dull the pain from the flashes, there’s barely anything left for him to think with. But he has to try.

“I have this, thing, in my body. I can’t think of the name, it’s hard to think, because of the pain.” He inhales sharply at the exertion from talking, from piecing words together cohesively when all he wants to do is shut down.

“I don’t need the name, just tell me what it does.”

“It closes the circuit,” Hanbin tries to explain, isn’t sure how much Jiwon understands about electrical currents. “It hurts you, because it has nowhere to go. But in me, the current goes to this, this thing, and it closes the circuit.”

“Why doesn’t everyone have one?” Jiwon asks, because explained like that it sounds so simple. How is Hanbin the only person in the whole of the industry to have this kind of technology?

“It took years,” he explains, “my tech, he’s been working for, for a long time on it. It’s not that simple.” He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying out in pain, the pounding in his skull is so intense.

Jiwon figures it’s the best answer he’s likely to get from Hanbin in his current state. “You were able to see things in our match that you shouldn’t have been able to see. Is that some other secret project?”

Hanbin won’t talk about the biot. It’s one secret he’ll take to his grave for Yunhyeong, no matter how many drugs they give him. “My third eye,” he says, because that’s what he’s always said to the public. “Like a sixth sense.”

Jiwon doesn’t buy it. “You think you can hold yourself up yet?” He asks warningly, desperate for more answers.

“You said one question,” Hanbin replies, “I answered one question.”

Damn it. “Fine, keep your secrets, for now, at least. How are you feeling, though? Is it getting any better?”

“Worse,” Hanbin answers, and the pain is all-consuming, to the degree that he has no idea whether or not his shoulders hurt anymore, or his legs. His head is the only thing he’s got room for.

“, this is annoying,” Jiwon replies, jostling Hanbin slightly while he changes his stance to better support him. “Since you’re so smart, any idea what he gave you?”

“No, nothing has ever felt like this.” Hanbin wishes more than anything that he could move his arms, just to hold them over his head. He’s got the weirdest sensation at the moment like his brain is trying to crack his own skull open from the inside, like some reptile has been born in the folds of grey matter, finally grown and ready to hatch its way out of the egg. He desperately wants to hold it together.

“Yeah well, that’s what Byunghoon does. He likes to make his own special concoctions, likes to test them out on people like ing lab rats. So it probably is something no one has ever felt before.” Jiwon leans his own head against the wall, resisting the urge to lay his head against Hanbin’s.

“Is that what he meant?” Hanbin asks, hoping to battle his way out of whatever is happening inside his head by trying desperately to focus on anything but the pain. “When he said, to ask you?”

“Yeah,” Jiwon replies, and he thinks about how he’s still caught in his own situation with the doctor. His two bottles of pills on the table, pain medication bartered in exchange for more testing, “it’s something like that. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Hanbin doesn’t push the topic, and suddenly, a moment later, the intense pain in his head stops. He still feels exceptionally weak, like the whole thing has taken all the energy out of him, but now that the pain is gone clarity returns, and he can think clearly again. The thoughts he ends up with are not comforting. If Byunghoon can design his own drugs, concoctions that are mentally and physically paralyzing, then it only means he’s in for a very painful future.

The only thing standing between that future and a possible escape is the man in front of him, who’s currently got arms wrapped around him, doling out unexpected help when asked. He has to stay on top of Jiwon, has to ensure he doesn’t do anything to damage this budding partnership.

“Jiwon?” He calls out with a shaky voice, and even though he could probably lift his head again, he leaves it where it is, tucked into the crook of Jiwon’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Thank you. Jiwon can’t remember the last time anyone has ever said those words to him in a meaningful way, and he’s surprised at how deeply it hits him at the moment. He’d never have expected Hanbin to be the sort of person who thanked anyone for anything. But he knows now that his initial assessment of Hanbin has been wrong, that there’s more to him than arrogance and a superiority complex. He’s someone who’s not afraid to express his gratitude, no matter how weak it might make him look.

The exchange feels a bit like making a deal with the devil. It’s forbidden, it’s something he’s been warned against his entire life, it feels intrinsically wrong, given their situations. But it’s happening, and he’s not sure why he feels so powerless to stop it. If he’s willing to be honest with himself, he’s not sure that he even wants to stop it.

“You’re welcome.”

Hanbin doesn’t say anything else, and Jiwon finally caves in to that earlier instinct, and he leans his head against Hanbin’s, and whatever else he might be feeling at the moment, he’s certain about one thing right now. He doesn’t want Hanbin to die. Not by Byunghoon’s hand, or Jiyong’s. Not even by his own.