7:46 PM

Hour 1

The sweat oozes down his face the same way unwelcomed water would trickle down an unsuspecting pipe from the outside. It invites itself to his features, though he did not summon it. Jongin’s hair clings to his face as his arms are lying on the ground. He’s tired, he’s restless and he personally thinks that the entire world has briefly stopped and is temporarily out to catch him.

Just as he’s about to push his arms into the ground in order to hoist his overly aching body, a pale, small hand with tiny, delicate fingers appears in front of his face.

He’s greeted with owl eyes and a bent form residing opposite of his own laying figure.

Jongin blinks a few times, but it’s not to clear his eyes for the purpose of identifying the person. No, that’s already been done. He just wishes to see a little bit better considering he feels half blind.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo says breathlessly, as if he’s the one who’s dripping in sweat.

Jongin furrows his eyebrows and pushes Kyungsoo’s hand away and stands on his own feet, taking an additional glance at the other boy before fully rising.

“Why do you look so tired?” He immediately asks, puzzling Kyungsoo for a fleeting moment.

The wide eyed boy finally chuckles and pats Jongin’s shoulder as if nothing is wrong, but Jongin knows better and prepares himself for a very much, unneeded rant that Kyungsoo was about to delight him with.

“I just wanted to see you,” Kyungsoo remarks, his lips creeping into the heart shaped smile that is so familiar to Jongin’s eyes; he stopped making the reference long ago.

Jongin lets a breath hiss through his teeth while looking at the other boy whose innocent gaze remains trained on Jongin’s tan skin on his shoulder, glistening with sweat, proof of an intense and unnecessary workout.

“Why do you even think I work like this?” Jongin mumbles under his breath, something he thinks Kyungsoo won’t catch but the older boy is sharp.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo slurs quietly, following Jongin out of the stuffy dance studio that they were both trapped in, Jongin more so.

They’re greeted by a rush of beautifully paced wind. It flows over Jongin’s skin in a comforting manor, releasing inner stress that was previously being fragmented down by the incalculable exercise. However, it causes Kyungsoo to shiver, rubbing his arms over his exposed skin.

Jongin sighs, observing his friend before revealing a fresh jacket from the inside of his dance bag and roughly handing it to him.

“Thank you!” Kyungsoo cheerfully replies, wrapping it around his torso, his arms sneaking underneath.

It’s an unnaturally cold day and even though it’s normal for Seoul to be rainy in mid-June, there is supposed to be sun peeking out every once in a while.

The sidewalks are soaked in an endless rain. The sky is painted a constant shade of grey, like a still and dull ocean. Everyone has out their umbrellas even though it’s hardly drizzling. They look unhappy, displeased with other things that probably don’t include the weather.

And Kyungsoo is optimistically smiling. ing smiling.

Jongin wants to order him to stop but he doesn’t have the heart to.

Kyungsoo is confused when he watches Jongin grimace.

“A-Am I doing something wrong?” He manages to question, pretending to act clueless. Maybe innocence will lighten Jongin’s mood.

He already knows. He knows everything but he won’t say it. Kyungsoo doesn’t have that courage.

“Aish, hyung, you know!” Jongin doesn’t mean to shout but his voice rises subconsciously.

Kyungsoo appears taken aback but he’s really trying to hide his feelings. He knows. He knows why Jongin is utterly compromised with deluding emotions but he doesn’t want to say it. Saying it is like giving in.

“Jongin, I’m fine,” Kyungsoo murmurs, stopping in the middle of the road.

Jongin looks at the boy who’s not cheerful anymore. Any sign of revelry that was possibly existent has left the atmosphere, leaving the two awkwardly standing there.

“Kyung…” Jongin breathes, touching his hyung’s shoulders.

Kyungsoo watches carefully. He listens too. Jongin calls him Kyung when he’s either trying to be cute and coerce him into cooking, or if he’s trying to display a sort of seriousness.

“I just have some breathing problems,” Kyungsoo speaks slowly though he knows himself that it’s not entirely the case and he’s happy that the doctor drove Jongin away when he begged to stay in the room.

Jongin appears as if he wants to say something more but he doesn’t fight against his friend.

“Come on. They’re waiting for us,” he gently grabs Kyungsoo’s wrist and tugs him along.

“You’re not possibly thinking of exercising more!” Kyungsoo exclaims with a laugh.

It’s a laugh that even though Jongin expects yet it still takes him off guard with its melody and causes a smile to break out on his own face, despite his troubled thoughts.

He’d memorized every trill, every ounce of Kyungsoo’s voice over the years. It is almost too simple to predict his friend’s emotions by listening to him.

Jongin has known Kyungsoo for a long time. A very long time. It’s not the certain form of relationship that everyone may long for, in which you know a person very well, because Jongin does know Kyungsoo very well. Exceptionally well. However, the two boys have grown to the point where they know everything.

 Jongin recalls when Kyungsoo spilled his guts all over the floor at his father’s prestigious dinner party.

When he wiped out on his bike in fifth grade.

 He remembers the first day Kyungsoo appeared sickly.

 He recollects everything that Kyungsoo has ever been afraid of.

On the other hand, Kyungsoo knows about Jongin’s bittersweet relationship between dance, the martial arts and of course his overprotective yet considerate family. Kyungsoo knows all of Jongin’s fears and insecurities, though there are not many. Kyungsoo is fully aware that he is one of the only soft spots Jongin has.

They are so close their relationship is never questioned. Their friends, their family, they don’t discuss the intimacy between the two. Not after all the fights, the experiences and other possible eventful situations the two could’ve been involved in. Typically, it is Jongin convincing Kyungsoo to do something stupid with him and they’d end up at the police station with a call to their parents.

So, with all this said, they knew when the other was lying. It didn’t matter how good the lie was. Really. It is just too obvious.

So Jongin wants to know why Kyungsoo is lying to him about it just being breathing problems.

Jongin is not a detective. But he doesn’t need to be.

Because, to him, Kyungsoo is an open book.

 

 

 

Hour 2

The two walk in a comfortable, lapsed silence towards a house. It’s a little shabby. A little small. And to someone who wouldn’t know any better, it’d look sketchy.

Though it may look like it’s discreet, unobtrusive and soundless, it isn’t.

Jongin doesn’t bother knocking; he doesn’t need to. He walks through the door hearing grunting sounds that are approaching from the deck that overlooks a small field with selected clusters of petite trees. Cicadas mix in their own soundtrack.

“Suho! Why do you try so hard?” Jongin calls, putting a halt to the echoes of agony.

Kyungsoo and Jongin are standing in a small kitchen that has cooking supplies left everywhere, over the counters, and much to Kyungsoo’s dismay. The walls are a faded yellow and would normally look better had the sky not been gloomy. Taking up too much space, the counters are a dull grey that must’ve once been white and the tiny wooden table shouldn’t even be considered a proper place to eat a meal (also to Kyungsoo’s dismay).

Next to the failure of a kitchen resides the also unsuccessful living room, which consists of an old television the size of a globe and an ancient couch that seemed to contain more complications than it should have. At one point in time, there used to be a colorful and fuzzy rug on the floor, but it’s now just empty, overused wood.

Before Suho can reach the patio door though, two hyperactive figures bound down a tight set of steps and collapse on the floor next to Jongin and Kyungsoo.

“Jesus,” the one with the frizzy, untamable hair comments, panting excessively.

His arm is draped around the other boy who appeared to have conveniently landed on his chest.

“Well sorry Chanyeol,” the pretty boy resting on him replies.  “You’re the one who wanted to race.”

Chanyeol eases his body upwards, arm still around the other boy, eventually heaving both of them up.

“Baekhyun, I didn’t know you were in a vicious mood,” he answers in a deep voice.

Just then Suho walks in, observing the two breathless boys and then the other two calm ones. His face is dripping with sweat, much like Jongin’s had been merely 15 minutes before.

“It’s eight pm,” he states with a sigh. “How is it that you two have so much energy?”

“Says the guy who was just exercising,” Kyungsoo speaks up with an amused tone.

Suho rolls his eyes.

“Alright, well that’s different,” he mutters an excuse.

While Chanyeol and Baekhyun immediately start to bicker over who actually won the race, an outcome no one will ever know, Jongin collapses his body on the couch, draping his arm over his eyes to block out all of the light.

“Anyone know where Sehun is?” Kyungsoo asks from the kitchen.

The clanking of metal against metal is heard.

Suho takes a long swig of water from the fridge and sets it down on the counter, taking a few heavy breaths.

“Practicing,” he answers.

Kyungsoo drops a knife and it causes Jongin to lift his arm and glance suspiciously in the kitchen. The wide eyed boy just fumbles around, picking it up again and shakes his head.

“Aigoo, that kid,” Kyungsoo says, pretending to cover up and change to subject. “Always practicing.”

Practicing. Sehun, the fourteen year old, poker faced and stoic kid is always practicing and making Kyungsoo worry like crazy.

The six boys residing in Suho’s grandfather’s antique home practice (more or less) a form of martial arts that the boy’s father had created, compiled from other types, in order to create a perfect balance, as he called it. The house is their summer home, much to their parents’ annoyance.

Suho’s father is normally home to teach them, help them and assist them into growing and widening their horizons but he’s gone on business, which is not uncommon, leaving his son Joonmyeon, who much prefers to be called Suho, to take care of the others.

They might be a little lazy and imperfect. Jongin cares more about dance. Baekhyun just hangs around for Chanyeol, who was originally there for Sehun, who goes because he actually cares about it. And Kyungsoo slips in and out of it but he’s more so deemed as a cook than anything else.

Besides they don’t really fight. Fighting is too conventional.

They like the little things, like racing down the stairs and sparring against each other, breathless, just because they can. Maybe even causing a little mischief along the way.

“I’m waiting for the day when Sehun’s father strips him of all his privileges because of his overworking,” Kyungsoo jokes while Jongin carefully watches him with narrowed eyes.

Kyungsoo then proceeds to leave the kitchen and invite Sehun inside.

By now, Baekhyun and Chanyeol are playing some sort of childish hand game while Suho has gone to change out of his less than nice, sweaty clothing.

Sehun arrives in the house also sweating to an extreme and panting.

“Are you making food?” He breathlessly wonders while Kyungsoo hums a tune as he chops a few vegetables that Jongin swears he’s never seen before.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers, throwing the vegetables in a bowl. “So enjoy.”

 

 

 

 

Hour 3

“Alright, I know it’s late but everyone come and eat!” Kyungsoo cheerfully cries.

The other five boys remove themselves from whatever they’re doing and sit around the incredibly small table, all positioned at different angles in order to properly fit.

Everyone enjoys the meals of chopped, fried meat and cooked veggies.

Jongin especially relishes everything that Kyungsoo cooks however he finds it hard to appreciate it while his thoughts are pounding his brain inconsiderately to a metaphorical pulp.

He keeps stealing looks at his friend, his expression cold and unreadable.

Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to notice but he definitely does, although he won’t show it. He knows Jongin too well and Jongin knows Kyungsoo too well to know that he really does notice.

The chatterboxes Chanyeol and Baekhyun fill the room with laughter and conversation that typically consists of jokes and nothing else. Suho laughs along, acting more like a father than a kid. Sehun characteristically nods at the two, occasionally bursting into a fit of amusement, his mouth wide open.

No one notices the tension between the two closest people at the table.

 

 

 

Hour 4

“Jongin, I swear if you don’t shower, I’m not sleeping in the same room as you-” Kyungsoo stops midsentence when a wet Jongin in fresh clothes appears from the inside of the bathroom.

His soaked hair clings to his face and his skin looks moisturized but his expression is too serious for Kyungsoo to be caught up in the moment.

“Already showered, Soo,” Jongin coldly remarks.

He carelessly tosses a damp towel on his bed and then slams the bathroom door disappearing inside before reappearing minutes later.

Their room is also rather small with two twin beds that are pressed into opposite walls. The fortifications are painted a deep azure and there’s one, medium sized window, without a screen, between the two beds.

Jongin drops his tired body onto his bed, leaning his back against the wall.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo exhales and plops next to him.

Jongin doesn’t mind Kyungsoo sitting on his bed. He’s perfectly fine with it. However, anyone else and something unnecessary, involving a punch or two, would most likely take place.

“What’s the matter?”  Kyungsoo wonders.

Jongin looks at the boy, his neck and head snapping in his direction, eyes dark, lips pressed into a line and an expression that is less than amused is clearly written on his face.

“The matter?” Jongin coldly laughs. “I want to know what the matter with you is! Huh? What’s wrong with you?” Jongin finds himself barking at Kyungsoo, though he really doesn’t mean to.

He immediately feels waves of guilt as he watches Kyungsoo’s expression fall and pools of water fill the smaller boy’s eyes.

“I…They don’t know…they…” Kyungsoo finds it hard to come up with words to convey his emotions. “Th-They don’t know what’s wrong. If it’s small or s-s-serious-“

Jongin reaches over and one of his hands wraps around Kyungsoo’s neck and the other around his waist. He pulls the latter over, on top of his lap, and into a tight hug.

Kyungsoo’s shaking fingers manage to find Jongin’s shoulders and slowly slide down his back until he’s clutching the fabric of his friend’s shirt.

“Your only sixteen,” Jongin accomplishes to say. “There’s no way you can…can…”

Neither of them is crying but they’re feeling miserable and trembling and Kyungsoo can’t bring himself to say anything or let go, so he remains.

Kyungsoo feels Jongin’s warm breath and finds it incredibly comforting while he sits, unwilling to move.

Jongin tries to cease his friends shivering by entwining his fingers through his hair, it carefully and whispering, “You’re okay,” for almost the whole night, until it’s midnight and they no longer feel alone.

 

 

 

Hour 13

A stream of light approaches through the window sill; it brightens the room only slightly and bounces of Kyungsoo’s warm back.

He realizes that his muscles are aching and sore. They shouldn’t be because he hasn’t exercised nor trained properly in weeks due to his complications.

When he unlocks his eyes, lids fluttering open, he finally notices that he’s still positioned in Jongin’s lap, his head resting idly head on the fifteen year old boy’s moving chest.

Suddenly the dull ache in his neck and thighs seems like nothing because the presence of Jongin is enough to sooth any discomfort.

Despite the warmth, Kyungsoo shivers, reminding himself that he’s in the ease of Jongin’s company and the fact that he stayed up with him that night before is enough to remind him of the type of unspoken relationship that the two possess and retain.

“Kyung…” Jongin’s voice is low, deep and somewhat husky from sleep.

Kyungsoo at first feels guilty because he woke the other up from his sleep but he suddenly wants him to be awake. He wants to talk. He thrives to discuss.

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo is surprised by how scared and small he sounds compared to Jongin, though he tries to conceal it.

Jongin’s hair is naturally ruffled and curly from sleeping with it wet. His eyes have signature dark circles and bags that possess a certain type of charm. As always, his tan skin is perfect looking even though it’s just around eight in the morning.

“My legs,” Jongin wraps his arms tightly around Kyungsoo and slides him off towards his left and instinctively stretches his legs outwards, a yawn escaping from his mouth.

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo whispers, also stretching out his drowsy muscles.

A silence falls amongst the two, undeclared. Neither says words because they know words don’t need to be said. Kyungsoo just wishes that they can chat about something completely irrelevant and humorous. He wants to discuss Sehun’s lisp. He wants to talk about Baekhyun and Chanyeol wiping out.

Not something that may take his life.

“It’s fine,” Jongin finally utters and Kyungsoo has to think for a moment to remember what he even said to result in such a response.

“I should go make breakfast,” Kyungsoo gets up, immediately feeling blood rushing down his legs and nearly making him want to collapse back onto his bad.

He shakes it out though as he walks, earning a marginally amused smile from Jongin for the first time in a while.

When Kyungsoo reaches the steps, there’s no one down the stairs yet. That is until he discovers Suho on the deck, appearing as if he’s making some sort of nature call.

With an eyebrow raised, Kyungsoo slides open the grimy door and is greeted by the familiar view and misty smell of the deck, along with Suho acting like a complete idiot.

The angel faced boy is standing upright, arms extended into a full wingspan and looking like he wants to take off at any moment.

“Hey Kyungsoo,” he welcomes, not bothering to turn around.

“Just what the hell are you doing?” Kyungsoo laughs, covering his mouth to stifle the sounds.

“Becoming one with nature,” Suho simply remarks, unblinking.

Kyungsoo folds his arms and watches judgingly, shaking his head every once in a while. He wonders why he’s friends with such weirdo’s. It’s not just Suho. It’s not just Chanyeol and Baekhyun. Sehun and Jongin have their fair share of oddness that somehow rubs off on Kyungsoo.

Besides, he knows every conceivable secret about Jongin anyway. Every single, solitary flaw. And the fact that he still remains with him, obviously demonstrates that he doesn’t care about imperfections.

Kyungsoo leaves his leader to his odd habits and returns to the stuffed kitchen to start making breakfast from whatever remained in the refrigerator, which normally wasn’t much.

“Why are we out of rice…”Kyungsoo utters with a sigh.

 

 

 

10:05 AM

Hour 15

“Why would I even let you go alone?” Jongin means it to sound like a joke but his tone comes across as dead serious and causes Kyungsoo to glare at him.

The two tread to the market in exploration of precious ingredients for Kyungsoo’s planned, gourmet breakfast. Jongin tags along, refusing to let his friend go unaccompanied.

“Are you sure we need that?” Jongin asks once. “That doesn’t look necessary,” he says again until Kyungsoo keeps glancing at him furtively, wondering if his friend, of many years, is okay.

Neither of them discuss the night that swallowed their heads in a swathing bath of uncertainty and silent, enveloping chaos. The type of disarray that is quiet and creeps up and you don’t realize it’s consumed you until it steps forward from your subconscious mind, revealing itself in its insane glory.

Jongin has already realized.

And Kyungsoo is a bit slow.

While the tiny boy grasps a handful of beets from an old lady’s fingertips, Jongin unwillingly and involuntarily decides to carry them for him.

 He laughs a quiet thank you, which brings a grin to Jongin’s lips. Jongin’s reaction produces a heart shaped smile and Kyungsoo thinks he’s happy.

The moment causes them to be lost in a bubble, an effervesce that blocks out previous instances of pain and hurt that could ever touch them or force them to remember.

 In fact they are so caught up with each other, they hardly notice, beyond them, there is a multitude of shouts and curses, possibly cries of screeching pain.

It’s all fast and there’s a sharp strike that blows into Kyungsoo’s side and he nearly topples over. A man darts pass without even bothering to whisper a sorry.

“H-He…he has my purse!” A woman bellows, falling over and clutching her side while her hair is wildly plastered against her sweaty face.

Before Jongin can even help Kyungsoo up or fawn over him, the small, quick boy is already on his feet and pushing forward.

“Wait, Kyungsoo! Wait!” Jongin feels as if his lungs are on fire as he dashes forward, shouting multiple times towards the boy who isn’t listening.

Kyungsoo suddenly seizes the running man in front of him and manages to whip him around. He attempts to snatch the purse but is cut off with a brutal, hasty punch.

An explosion of pain erupts beneath his skin and travels to the itching surface. He experiences the sting and gruffness of his knees hitting the gravel while his breath sticks to his lungs and he can hardly inhale.

Another sharp kick is about to be delivered but Jongin finds himself tackling the other man to the ground, harshly grabbing the purse and tossing it aside.

That’s when he realizes Kyungsoo is in an unfathomable amount of pain, writhing on the cold, pebbly ground, clutching his chest and abruptly in breaths in a cutting manner.

“K-Kyungsoo!”

He feels as though everything is suddenly is his fault. Why did he not take Kyungsoo to the hospital earlier? Why did he have to do all those crazy things with him in the past? It is his entire fault. And that is all that consumes his mind as cradles Kyungsoo’s head for a few brief moments.

“C-Can someone…someone please?”

Jongin’s words are much quieter than anticipated and he gets frustrated so easily because of that.

The man who attempted to steal the woman’s purse has already scrambled away, leaving it lying on the ground.

“Please, somebody ing help me!” Jongin screeches at the top of his lungs, feeling his throat being set ablaze with the myriad effort, but more satisfied with the sound amplifying from it, so much more booming than the previous cry.

The sweat covered, exhausted and aching woman bends over and decides to abandon her purse while she clutches Kyungsoo’s shoulders.

“You’ll help?” Jongin says through tears that flow over his lips and drip onto his teeth but he hardly has noticed he’s been crying.

“Yes,” she bites her lip. “Yes, we need to go to a hospital!”

Jongin’s springs up, not in realization because he figures he should go to the hospital but because he notices he’s soaking Kyungsoo’s hair with tears.

Together, they heave the semiconscious Kyungsoo through the street. Since neither of them have a cell phone and the hospital is two blocks away, they try their best to sprint and lug him all the way there.

However, every lift of a leg, every breath, every movement literally scalds Jongin’s body despite the adrenaline that propels through his veins recklessly. He feels like collapsing and going back to the days in which their biggest complications were losing a bet and suffering the unbearable embarrassment and misery of bragging rights.

Surprisingly, a nurse meets Jongin and the woman slightly before they reach the emergency room doors. Jongin doesn’t really care whether someone called ahead of time because they noticed the emergency or whether they were lucky that the nurse had anticipatory reactions.

He just wants Kyungsoo to be okay.

His trembling fingers will not still and his hair is mortared into unimaginable directions.

 

 

Hour 16

Questions were asked but Jongin can’t answer any of them. Not while Kyungsoo is trapped in a room filled with white walls lit under a dim light and surrounded by an assembly of doctors examining him.

“Please, Jongin, we’d like to know where you found him.”

Jongin’s eyes flicker up while he rests his idle foot against the floor for about the fifth time and steals a glance at the flustered nurse.

She’s wearing a loose uniform and her skirt is slightly twisted. Her hair seems like it was supposed to be tied into a bun but now cascades down her neck, wrapping around the pearly white skin in either a complimenting way or an exhausting fashion.

While she stares at him, her eyebrows are knitted together like crochet stitches. The amount of effort put into her stone cold stare is immeasurable.

“I didn’t find him,” Jongin lifelessly answers. “I was with him, he-“

He abruptly stops short when a doctor, from the room Kyungsoo is stalled in, appears.

Jongin shoots up and the nurse clasps her hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. She isn’t stronger than him and has little power over his masculine authority but he’s feeling pretty fragile anyway and allows himself to be pressed back down.

“Are you Kyungsoo’s family?” The doctor asks. “I thought he promised they would come.”

“What’s wrong?” Jongin ignores his question. “What’s wrong with him?”

The doctor blinks.

“Well, don’t you know?” He answers. “Kyungsoo was diagnosed with Myocarditis, a form of heart disease.”

 Jongin feels as though he’s been kicked, like a wrathful force has just connected with his gut or his stomach because he’s not sure which one. The wind is knocked out of him. He coughs. He feels choked by tears and sadness and general solitude that all devour his soul entirely.

“H-He said they didn’t know!” He argues loudly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

“No,” the doctor firmly replies. “This was a serious condition diagnosed a week ago and we allowed him permission to leave with his promise to come back but he never did.”

Jongin wants to feel betrayed. He desires to experience a sense of hatred for Kyungsoo. He wants to loathe his best friend for not telling him but only a flood of grief shatters over him in a type of shadowy movement that keeps him breathless.

“It’s okay, though,” the doctor assures him. “He needs a heart transplant and there’s a donor heart at a hospital in Bucheon that will be available shortly.”

Jongin can only feel the sense of time escape his fingertips and he suddenly wants to pray. He’s not Christian. He’s not Muslim. In fact, he doesn’t practice a religion but abruptly now, it feels as if the world is closing in on him and someone has bent his timeline in half, so he really needs to pray.

Surgery. Heart. Surgery.

He feels as though his mind has deliberately deceived him.

How did I not know?

“A-And the ch-chances of it being a success?” Jongin stammers, never having felt so feeble whilst asking a question.

“Oh it’s very high. Sixty five percent chance of survival.”

Jongin considers lowering himself to his knees. Thirty five percent. There is a thirty five percent chance that Kyungsoo wouldn’t live. His Kyungsoo.

“Can I…can I see him before the surgery?” Jongin pleads, desperately gazing into the eyes of the doctor.

The man in front of him adjusts his glasses in a calming sense, as if he is used to these situations (which he probably is).

“Of course, the heart will not arrive for another hour.”

 

 

Hour 17

Jongin knows that Suho and the others have been informed and are on their way but none of that is on his mind as he enters the doors and literally feels as if his heart is being viciously ripped out and cut with a blade in front of his own eyes.

Kyungsoo is hardly conscious and Jongin’s legs are moving without his brains consent.

He ambles towards the boy who is mercilessly connected to masses of cords and a mask that covers his face, hiding his small nose and nearly covering his unique lips.

“K-Kyung,” he whispers.

A movement of an Adam’s apple and a flickering of eyes is Jongin’s response as he finds himself painted immediately to his friend’s side.

“I-I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo breathily starts.

“No,” Jongin argues. “I am. I never should’ve argued with you. I’m ing stupid.”

“I was going to come back to the hospital after m-making one last meal for you guys,” Kyungsoo continues, eyes straining with effort.

Jongin squeezes his eyelids together, taking in the sound of Kyungsoo’s melodious voice. He doesn’t care if it is as scratchy as it is. It will be forever beautiful to him.

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo manages, eyeing Jongin who has his hands clasped together and his head bowed forward.

“I’m praying,” Jongin murmurs.

“You don’t believe in God,” Kyungsoo states.

“I don’t care,” Jongin remarks, feeling tears streak down his face.

They sit like that and Jongin doesn’t realize that he shouldn’t be clutching onto Kyungsoo so hard. He probably shouldn’t be caressing Kyungsoo’s skin like he is. He shouldn’t be disturbing Kyungsoo’s peace.

“Hallelujah.”

Jongin looks up at Kyungsoo.

The boy is winded, hardly managing to speak.

“Hallelujah,” he wheezily repeats.

“Why?” Jongin speaks.

“Because,” Kyungsoo inhales. “We should be celebrating.”

 

 

Hour 18

Suho has arrived, followed by the rest of Jongin’s friends.

Baekhyun’s face is buried deep into Chanyeol’s shoulder while Suho rubs his temples and Sehun sits quietly, contemplating something more unfathomable than most teenagers his age could understand.

They all silently wait outside in the hallway while the doctors prepare a room for surgery, leaving Kyungsoo alone in his bed.

Jongin wonders why they haven’t started the surgery yet. He’s wondering a lot of things. He’s wondering those things that usually envelope one’s mind late at night whilst attempting to sleep.

When all of a sudden, in an abrupt manner, nurses are rushing past them in a whirlwind, leaving traces of urgency behind as they scurry to their desks, sliding the rolling chairs across the floor and anxiously picking up their phones.

Doctors, patients and an assortment of people have filed out of doors and filled the halls, scampering about.

The boys exchange glances with each other and Jongin feels his heart race before he acknowledges it.

“The television!” Someone shouts, hitting a couch in the lobby with a plunk and punching the remote, shooting the TV to life.

Jongin finds himself slinking over, followed by his friends.

What he finds causes him to clasp his hand over his mouth, shake his head repeatedly and allow his brain to shut down until he can’t feel anything but numbness that overwhelms his body.

“It has just been reported that a hospital in Bucheon has been taken over by an unidentified group of Chinese terrorists. Nothing can be confirmed yet, other than the fact that it is a small group. No motive has come through yet but police are at a standstill due to the possession of hostages inside.”

Jongin thinks his heart has stopped and everyone around them is in a permanent cloud of shock, a miasma of negative emotions.

“I-I can’t.”

The hospital on the screen was surrounded by cars and police and gusts of hurrying people and all Jongin can think is Kyungsoo’s heart is in there.

He nudges off the hands on his shoulder and catches himself bolting towards Kyungsoo’s room without permission.

The moment he’s glued to his friend’s side, shaking and tearing up, Kyungsoo murmurs, “I know.”

It’s too much for Jongin.

“But it’s okay,” Kyungsoo reassures him. “I-It’s…”

Kyungsoo does not want to die and Jongin can’t be unaccompanied.

“I don’t want you to die,” Jongin bluntly blurts, feeling a short bursting sob escape from his quivering lips

Kyungsoo closes his eyes. He knows that if he responds or tries to speak he will start to cry. He knows that he’s so afraid and he can’t show it.

“Y-You can’t leave me,” Jongin continues. “I-I don’t want to be alone at midnight anymore!”

Kyungsoo keeps his eyes plastered shut despite the tears that fall down his face.

“Don’t be afraid of it,” he hoarsely responds.

“N-No! I’m afraid!” Jongin pleads. “Kyungsoo…Kyungsoo…”

Kyungsoo listens to his name milked from Jongin’s lips and cherishes it while he sits and almost enjoys it despite the grief that encases his heart like an impenetrable armor.

They remain shiftless for a few minutes in muteness.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin finally whispers. “I’m going to get it.”

“What?” Kyungsoo finds himself asking.

“I’m going to ing get your heart.”

“Please, Jongin-“

“Kyungsoo, I love you.”

A punch of silence ripples through Kyungsoo.

“I love you, and I’m going to get your goddamn heart.”

Kyungsoo rests his head back and shakes it in protest but Jongin presses his lips to the latter’s fingertips and trails them down to his wrist and lingers there for a few seconds.

“Jongin, no,” Kyungsoo begins when he feels the lack of contact.

But Jongin makes a longing glance at the person he loves most, the person who managed to get a stiff, cold person like Jongin to love another human being.

And then he exits.

In a matter of minutes he has his friends with him, a sheet that describes the heart, a serial number embarked on it, and they’re walking to the parking lot. There’s no questioning as to why they agreed with Jongin. Maybe they are all a little crazy.

“Suho, did you bring your car?” Jongin shakily asks.

“Yes,” Suho replies.

“Oh god, oh god,” Baekhyun is mumbling, fingers trembling in Chanyeol’s hands. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Chanyeol plows his long fingers through Baekhyun’s hair, calming him and soothing him until the boys quaking ceases.

“Does anyone know how long a heart can last after it has been removed from a donor?” Jongin finds himself calming his own heartbeat as he inquires.

“Six,” Suho answers. “If we’re lucky. We really gotta move. It takes an hour to get there and an hour back.”

Jongin swings into the backseat of the jeep, as do the others and Suho starts the ignition.

Now the only thing that Jongin is wondering is when did time stop being on their side?

 

 

 

Hour 19

Waves of people block Jongin’s view and he finds himself struck by the situation. It’s only around eleven in the morning yet everyone is rushing.

Rushing in the way of not only speed but movement. The type of way they cycle their legs and maneuver around obstacles is unique.

It’s only when Suho asks how they are supposed to get in that it hits Jongin. He could die. He could die.

“The back,” Sehun points. “While it’s blocked off, I’m pretty sure I saw a ladder when we were driving in that we could climb up and maybe open a window.”

Suho agrees and Jongin feels himself go uneasy. But he remembers Kyungsoo and how much this is worth it so he says nothing.

Chanyeol almost persuades a terrified Baekhyun to stay back and away from danger but the brunette didn’t last five seconds apart from his curly haired best friend.

They guide themselves through the crowd of people, weaving in and out like they’re working through a masterpiece, sketching away a draft.

Tear streaked faces pass them and sobbing children, worried parents and other young kids who probably don’t understand. Shocked policemen who are trying to control the situation.

The back of the hospital is mostly clear and there is a ledge, barely suitable for standing on. Jongin decides to take his chances.

Every step up the obsidian tinted, heatless ladder, every time he grasps the metal rung, Jongin feels his heart beat faster and fear creep inside of him.

No one notices them until they are standing on top of the ledge.

Baekhyun is nearly in tears and although Jongin is not afraid of heights, he feels his stomach drops as he glances down from the fourth floor of the building.

The air brushing past his body either makes him feel a great sense of uneasiness or just more calm. He can’t decide because his thoughts are in a line of buzzing noise in his head.

“Guys, I don’t want to move,” Baekhyun protests, but also refuses to go back down the ladder.

Chanyeol holds him as best he can from a side angle without tipping them both over.

“Sehun!” Suho calls over the crowd of people that have started shouting and pointing. “Is that window open?”

Jongin knows they need to hurry before the police threaten to shoot them down and he knows they need to be careful to get in unnoticed otherwise someone can get shot.

“No.”

“Dammit,” Suho utters, inching to the side.

Everyone follows in suit, Baekhyun wailing muffled sobs as they go, and move slowly.

Jongin’s fingertips find themselves resting on a crack and he notices that it is a window slightly ajar, and just as they feel a wave of outbreak below them, enraged police and surprised people, he s it open.

“Guys!” He whispers.

He swings a leg over and waits until his friends are close before going in. Immediately, he presses himself up against the wall and feels the heat of the room, or it’s just his sticky skin.

“It’s clear,” he also murmurs.

The other four pass through the window and Baekhyun clearly breathes a sigh of relief before he’s snagged backwards by Chanyeol.

“We need to know where they are,” Jongin mutters. “Otherwise we can’t just go searching unprotected.”

Everyone silently agrees and they slink back against the wall and begin to silently slither along the back of the hallway.

 

 

 

Hour 20

It’s not until they’ve gone through four hallways when they reach the lobby. Ducking down, they peer from afar and observe.

There are seven people standing. Six boys and one girl. They hardly look like adults. In fact, one of the boys has a babyish face from the distance they are standing and appears to be a mere child.

A multitude of people are huddled in clumps on the floor while the Chinese individuals, standing, monitored them with less than amused expressions.

They are conversing in Mandarin when the woman catches a glance of the outdoors through the glass windows and notices the crowds of people stirring over something else.

She snaps her head back to the other boys and Jongin gets taken aback. From such a distance, he notices a cat eye look that embraces her face.

The serious expression frightens him.

She shouts at them in Mandarin and then yells the word go in Korean.

Jongin springs upward and backs into Sehun and they all end up crouching farther away.

“I think they know we’re inside,” Baekhyun hisses, terrified.

Jongin doesn’t acknowledge what he says but he thinks about it and knows it’s true.

 

 

 

Hour 21

It’s not Jongin’s idea to split up nor does he like. He’s actually pretty sure that it is no one’s idea and this is the most petrified he’s ever been.

He’s never felt so small and insignificant. He’s never felt so useless. So trapped.

A sound resonating between walls causes his ears to perk instantly but he makes no effort to move and remains still, resting with a stiff physique visible to anything or anyone passing by.

Voices may or may not have awakened something in his heart that causes it to beat abnormally and sends a type of pheromone to his brain pushing his thoughts to a still, empty motion.

Jongin’s not even scared. He doesn’t worry about his own safety.

Well, yes. He cares whether or not his body is brutally shot down. However, he’s so terrified, terrified that Kyungsoo will never receive that heart.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to himself as if it’ll make him feel better.

Jongin slowly rises from a crouching position, eyes narrowed. He casually flocks to the left and follows a suspicious shadow that hardly catches his eye.

He makes it a few paces before a voice cuts him off.

“Stop following me and I’ll make your death quicker.”

Jongin halts but does not feel as frightened as he should. He raises an eyebrow and rests his left leg, shifting his weight to his right.

From behind a secluded area, the shadow illuminates itself, revealing a tall, blonde man with a permanent scowl etched upon his fair face.

He tilts his head, either in amusement or slight surprise.

“You could possibly be stupid or you have got a really good ing reason to be messing with us.”

The man continues, keeping his glare met with Jongin’s unfaltering gaze.

“You’re speaking Korean,” Jongin manages to answer, not preoccupied with the fact that this mystery man has a gun or the fact he could easily kill him.

“I suppose I’m talented.”

Jongin senses the movement of the man’s arm before he pulls out the gun and he lunges forward, feeling a rush of wind and adrenaline that urges him to tackle the latter.

In between heated breaths and a broken mind and psychic state, he accomplishes the task of kicking the gun from the blonde’s slender fingertips, only resulting in a rough turnover and the wind getting knocked out of him as he’s forced onto his back.

A sharp punch connects with his jaw and he ends up feeling more pain in his throat than his face. It’s possibly from the lack of air reaching his lungs and the strength of the fingers closed around his windpipe.

Jongin chokes a few times before he thrashes around violently, barely able to send his foot into the Chinese boy’s stomach.

His attacker stumbles a few times before returning to Jongin.

However, he’s a bit late because Jongin has scrambled up and received the gun in his palm.

Jongin’s never shot a gun and he doesn’t plan on it. He knows that it’s essential for survival in a situation such as this but he will never consider firing a shot.

Still, that doesn’t mean the Chinese boy needs to know.

“I’ll shoot you,” Jongin warns bluntly.

“That wouldn’t be very wise,” his opponent informs him.

Sweat drips from Jongin’s brow. His hair is more disheveled than it was when he awoke that morning. His dry lips have cracked and there’s a trickle of blood that’s dotted and dried. But that’s nothing compared to the cut on his jaw and the ringed, crimson, finger marks rung around his neck.

“There’s an exception though,” Jongin continues. “All of the patients have been evacuated except for the ones held hostage in the lobby, right?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Let me remind you, I’m the one with the gun,” Jongin blandly retorts.

“Yes,” his adversary finally replies. “Everyone else is assumed to be evacuated.”

“I need to know where the room with donor organs may be kept,” Jongin goes on, not quite sure if it was a mistake or disadvantage to ask this man.

“How the should I know? This isn’t my hospital.”

Jongin thanks the lord for allowing him to not hesitate or struggle to prep the gun.

The stare from the blonde man that Jongin receives is something caught between a glare, amusement and possibly fear.

“If there was one,” the stern man says. “I’m assuming it would be on the second floor at the end of the hall. That’s what it seemed like. I think it was a refrigerated room.”

“Looks like you get to live,” Jongin informs him.

The other raises an eyebrow.

“You look like you’ve never even seen a gun, kid, nor know how to shoot it,” he says skeptically.

“It really doesn’t seem like you want to challenge that right now, do you?” Jongin retorts. “We can test if I know or not, if you’d like.”

His enemy tries to decide whether or not he’d like Jongin dead or his existence purely amuses him.

“Good luck if the others find you,” he whispers. “You’re an interesting character. However, don’t expect me to let you live next time we meet.”

The stranger’s eyebrows are sketched into Jongin’s mind as he cautiously leaves, checking behind him every thirty seconds because he doesn’t feel safe.

He feels as if that was too easy but then is reminded of the struggle every time he tries to breath and his fingers wrap around the rash that engulfs his neck.

It’s not hard to find the room that the other had mentioned. It’s truly at the end of a hallway on the second floor and cold is practically emitting from the door, but Jongin knows better than that.

There is no such thing as “cold” just an absence of heat.

Soon the room would be the warmth of the air the moment Jongin opened the door.

The cold air is a bit much for Jongin’s skin and he feels the need to huddle up to something warm but he reminds himself that he is toying with borrowed time and his best friend is dying.

A crumpled piece of paper is pulled out of his pocket. His fingers smooth out the creases and he squints, trying to read the black serial numbers that appear to deceive his eyes like red ink. Popping out is the binary system, some sort of test but he manages to find the serial number is the bottom left corner.

In the freezer he discovers several Styrofoam boxes and he desperately searches through the serial numbers trying not to think about the fact that these are all organs of dead human beings.

It takes him ages and he feels like crying in desperation when finally, his fingers manage to come across the matching serial number and his hands fumble in desperation.

He feels his legs burn as he bolts out the door, the heat of his body having already clashed with the icy chill of the room.

A sharp, high pitched scream pierces the air, slicing through the molecules of oxygen and causing the hairs, not only on the back of Jongin’s neck but all over his body, to stand on end.

He feels his heart clench when revealing itself is a scene in which Sehun and the baby faced boy are both staring at each other, a gun in each hand pointed at each other’s heads, casually brushed up against their noses.

Jongin’s never seen Sehun appear so serious in his life. And he’s pretty sure that the young boy has never used a gun in before either.

“S-Sehun,” Jongin stammers, palms sweaty and brows furrowed.

“Jongin,” Sehun manages, not turning to face his friend but acknowledging his presence.

The other boy continues to stare at him with a frighteningly serious expression that looks to kill and Jongin feels chills down his spine.

“Drop the gun, Luhan,” Sehun whispers and a tear streaks down his face.

Jongin feels the sudden sense of these two know each other.

“I’m not stupid,” the other boy utters.

“Please,” Sehun pleads. “I can’t shoot you.”

“Don’t try that on me,” Luhan answers, his expression never shifting. “You’re not saving the world. You’re doing nothing.”

Sehun’s never felt such a pang in his heart and Jongin senses it also. It never occurred to them what the invaders were doing. These terrorists. Why were they here?

“Then what are you doing?”

“What does it mean to you?” Luhan snarls.

Jongin notices that he’s also speaking Korean, but it’s a bit choppy as if he once spoke it so fluently but it’s been a while since.

“This,” Jongin holds up the box, receiving a snort from Luhan. “Is for my best friend. Who is dying. And if I don’t ing get it to him he will die.”

“Why does he deserve to live?” Luhan questions. “Why does he get to live instead?!”

He ends it with a shriek and Sehun takes the opportunity to snatch the latter’s gun, causing the Chinese boy to violently thrash out, lodging his fist against Sehun’s skull until Jongin intervenes because he realizes that Sehun refuses to hit the boy because of a strange attraction that he must have to him.

Jongin holds him back long enough for Sehun to get a grip and pin Luhan down.

“Find Joonmyeon and the others!” He cries. “You need to get out quickly and get that heart to Kyungsoo.”

Jongin wants to refuse because he catches the violent look in Luhan’s beautiful eyes and the desperate expression that Sehun’s face encompasses but the boy nearly pleads him to go.

“I can’t- I-“

“Go!” Sehun yelps. “ing go, Kim Jongin!”

 

 

 

Hour 23

The initial shock of leaving behind one of his closest friends claws at Jongin’s heart as he dashes across abandoned tile, clutching the Styrofoam box as if his life depends on it- but it’s not his life.

Dark circles that rest beneath his eyes are undeniable. His cracked, plump lips quiver with effort and a possible sorrow. His face proves to show more of his inside feelings than it may lead to.

He loves Kyungsoo. He’s come to terms with that. But he’ll never live with himself if he leaves all the rest of his friends in the hostile hospital.

The farther Jongin’s legs carry him, the more air his lungs are robbed of. However, the adrenaline capacity compensates for this because it increases, pumping through him like a raging river flooding in ancient times.

He skids to a stop, feet dragging him slightly farther than anticipated and he’s greeted with a bloody Suho, who resides on the ground breathing in ragged exhales and abbreviated inhales.

“Suho!” Jongin screeches, bending forward.

He’s relieved to see that the eldest is alive but the older boy grips his sleeve, staring at him with wide and terrified eyes that could match Kyungsoo’s.

“The girl!” He hisses breathily. “Watch out for her!”

Jongin strains to see Suho through his blurred vision. He’s not crying but his eyes water from the lack of moisture in the air and the dryness that the run presented his eyes with.

“What…what about her?” He wonders.

Suho blinks and regains sight.

“She’s…she’s dangerous. I don’t know. I thought I was fighting her and then the next thing I knew…” he trails off and attempts to sit up.

Jongin helps him stand and the weight of the situation dawns on him even more than before. Something like this has never happened ever. He can’t decide whether it’s cliché, original, or simply bad luck.

But then again, what are the chances of getting heart disease?

This sudden remembrance kicks in his veins as he whips his head forward and stands, glowering at the space ahead, determined.

“We need to find Baekhyun and Chanyeol and get out of here,” Jongin explains. “Sehun is in a tight situation with one of the attackers.”

Suho is finally enabled to walk, shaking his head a few times as if it’ll clear the pounding ache.

“Splitting up would find them better, but we can’t risk that because we need to be together in the end,” Jongin continues.

“Jongin,” Suho places a rough and callused hand upon his shoulder, a serious expression taking over his face. “You need to leave us because Kyungsoo will die if you don’t get that,” he points to the box. “To him.”

Jongin vigorously shakes his head.

“No,” he refuses. “I can’t simply leave you-“

“Dammit, Jongin!” Suho cries. “We’re wasting time and Kyungsoo is going to die!”

Jongin’s eyes snap wider open. He has no doubt in his mind that Kyungsoo’s life is in danger. It is excessively plaguing his thoughts like an incurable disease. Of course he’s been thinking about it. But he hasn’t realized that the others are thinking about it too. This isn’t a mental issue within his own brain, but outside his bubble too, and affecting other people.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

“Now take me to Sehun,” Suho compromises. “And the two of us will go and find Chanyeol and Baekhyun.”

Jongin reluctantly agrees and they erupt into a sprint.

They pass windows from which light streams through, adding blocks of brightness that illuminate the walls like an elementary school daydream.

Something then catches their eye, a fantasy splattered in blood. The wall is thickly layered in the dense, crimson substance.

Beyond them, two people are arguing in hushed voices.

“!”

A boy with high cheekbones rises from a crouched position in front of another person with chubby cheeks. They scrutinize Jongin and Suho with judging eyes.

“This is your fault,” Cheekbones whispers to the other.

“You’re not Chinese,” Jongin instantly notices, stepping backwards, clutching the heart tighter for some reason.

“You’re right,” he replies stepping forward. “I’m not.”

“Jongdae, don’t!” His friend utters from behind him, grabbing his forearm.

“Get off of me, Minseok,” Jongdae retorts, wrenching himself free.

Suho and Jongin shift uneasily, stealing glances at the blood surrounding the walls and wondering (and hoping to God not) if it belongs to their friends.

Jongin’s not sure when the fight starts or how it escalates. He feels it more than anything. Not the pain, necessarily. While that is evident, he literally consumes the surroundings, which are thick with tension and an essence of conflict and battle.

It’s only fuel to the fire.

He feels his back on the ground and the crack when he flips Jongdae over him. He hears Minseok whip out the gun unconcernedly. And he tucks his knees, rolling out into an opening and grabbing Suho along the way just as shots are fired.

As Jongin desperately struggles to his feet, box still clutched closely to his chest, his legs take off and he and Suho dive behind a corner just as the gun rings in their ears a second time, nearly deafening them.

“, , !” Suho is cursing as he tries to calm his wild heartbeat.

The escalation part then comes to play when the Chinese, cat eyed woman appears at the bottom of a stairway, hands casually placed on the railing and glaring at them.

Her merciless eyes bore down onto the boys, even from afar. She carries neither a gun nor a sense of fear to show of any kind while she calmly paces towards them.

“Jesus Christ, she’s scary,” Suho finds himself uttering.

Jongdae and Minseok are standing aside, observing her with patient eyes.

“What do we have here?” She questions, her Korean somewhat rough.

“We only want to leave,” Jongin immediately retorts. “I swear! We won’t attack!”

Her eyes continue to inspect him, analyzing like a restless machine.

“I’m s-serious! We just want to leave! We won’t harm you!” Jongin repeats, the box in his hands is a deep reminder that time is running out and the heart needs to be refrigerated and he has less than an hour.

The weight of everything plummets upon him as tears squeeze from his eyes. Kyungsoo cannot die. Jongin needs a reason to live his life, and Kyungsoo’s death will end it.

“My father wanted to live too,” she growls at them. “I suppose he didn’t get that wish granted either.”

Minseok’s eyes visibly soften.

“Victoria,” he quietly says in an effort to get her attention.

“No one should refuse to treat a patient!” Victoria shrilly continues as a dagger is pulled from behind her and into the wall viciously, sticking with a thud.

Jongin touches his face with his dirtied hand. The moist tears streak through the grime on his fingers, creating a path of pure skin that dribbles to his arm.

It reminds him of Kyungsoo, the bit of lightness in his dark life.

He doesn’t want a world without that trickle of brightness.

Jongin proceeds to close his eyes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Time is on your side. And your midnights will never be lonely.

The gun is visible in Jongdae’s fingertips but Jongin’s feeling dangerous as he takes a cautious step backwards and makes an effort to give Suho a side glance.

Suho understands.

They break into a run just as the echoing boom of shots erupts from behind them. They dart behind the nearest corner for safety and it buys them a few seconds of marginal safety. Another corner is cut for a bit more of time but they’re running out of it too quickly.

Shouts in Mandarin can be heard from behind them and it only eggs Jongin on, if not more than the box that sits in his palm.

“Right!” Suho shouts, snagging Jongin’s collar and yanking him in the opposite direction.

They fall upon stairs to the lobby and, without meaning to, tumble down them. Jongin’s leg cascades over Suho’s and his arm ends up whacking him, getting returned with an accidental kick.

The roar of the gun reawakens them at the bottom of the stairs and they scramble away and duck underneath it, leaving the Styrofoam box at the foot of the steps.

Jongin reaches to grab it but can’t because he knows he will be shot immediately if he shows any sign of movement.

Surprised by the open fire, the numerous hostages duck deeper and scream. The person, who is supposed to be watching them, springs to life as if he had been forgetful of his duty.

He fires shots into the air, hushing the squeals of terror.

That’s when Jongin notices that Chanyeol and Baekhyun are among the hostages, except they are gagged and huddled close together, holding hands.

The situation turns to an even more heated occurrence when Luhan appears at the top of the steps, thin wrists gripping Sehun’s from behind the boy’s back.

When suddenly, Chanyeol and Baekhyun break out and barely manage getting nipped by the man who is supposed to be watching them. They dive underneath the stairs into the arms of Jongin and Suho. However, the two catchers are watching Sehun attentively.

The tension in the air is thickened when the gun is pointed at them because Luhan and Sehun ing appeared at the bottom of the steps like magic.

Everything is happening too fast, all at once and Jongin can’t process it. He’s too focused on Sehun, on the heart, on the lack of time that they have.

The movement of the events is too much for him to keep up with and he has to keep his eyes strained to understand.

“If you four don’t come out,” Luhan’s voice is heard. “I will blow Sehun’s brains to oblivion. So I suggest you move.”

The boys find themselves cautiously shuffling into a danger zone from which they can be shot at. From which everything is more vulnerable and nothing is what it seems.

Luhan’s boyish, innocent face taints their hearts.

Jongin toys with Kris’s gun that’s stuffed behind in his pants, hidden with the shirt. He knows any sudden movement will startle them and he should’ve pulled it out sooner.

He ends up not caring and quickly retrieves it from behind and whips it out until it touches Luhan’s forehead.

The two boys glower at each other with an indescribable intensity. Sehun, who is being clutched by Luhan beside him, looks at Jongin frightened.

“Just let us leave,” Jongin hisses at him.

“We can’t,” Luhan answers back with venom. “We’re proving a point.”

“A pointless point.”

The gun is cocked.

Luhan’s bloodshot eyes are too serious to be kidding.

Jongin glances to the side and downwards, seeing the heart that needs to get to Kyungsoo because there’s no time and no other compatible heart.

“I hope you know you’re ending more than our lives today,” Jongin says as plain as he can while two tears flow down his face.

Just as Luhan is about to answer, they both sense the sudden danger and step backwards, Luhan surprisingly bringing Sehun closer to him as a knife slices through the distance between them and Jongin.

Victoria is standing idly at a distance.

It’s the same blade that had been previously dug into the wall, planted like a seed.

Jongin’s never felt so many emotions flooding the air and filtering into such a mess. He never wants to feel it ever again because it’s like a waterfall of intensity that breaks all mental strength.

“Some people just aren’t lucky,” she retorts.

There’s a pause, a silence. It works like a battle cry and an invitation to war.

Luhan brings the gun to Jongin again but it’s wrestled from him by Sehun, who stumbles backwards and is about to be shot by one of the other boys but Jongin’s quicker. He doesn’t hesitate this time and fires at the opponent.

“Yixing!”

The blonde man from before appears by Yixing’s side and Jongin feels the weight of what he’s done but he’s aware that he only shot the victim in the leg.

He doesn’t have enough time to process what happened because a bullet grazes his arm and he can’t even attend to it because Victoria lunges at him.

Jongin fights her off but she leaps back at him with more intensity, clawing at his hair, his skin and anything else exposed.

He doesn’t even realize that she has a knife and he has a gun because they’re really only using pure fists and human power.

She finally is tossed off and a multitude of shots are fired. Jongin’s heart beats faster and faster as he steps back and looks around frantically.

The hostages have scattered.

Everyone is there, at the center of the conflict.

But where is the heart?

And then suddenly the encumbrance of eternity crushes him beyond his human capacity.

Where a white Styrofoam box should be, resides a holey, blood stained box. Bullets have pierced the heart, leaving it a useless vessel.

Jongin feels as if his own heart has been devoured and spit back out in pieces. His life is worth nothing. His body is anything but adequate. And there is nothing more overwhelming and abolishing to his brain than the scene before him.

He drops to his knees feeling a heavy weight constrict them and he doesn’t notice when the final straw is drawn and glass broken around him as reinforcements shower into the building.

He’s not attentive as shots are fired around him and people drop to the ground in fear or in pain.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices that Victoria is on the ground, twitching and writhing in pain as her fingers clasp around a gunshot wound embedded in her abdomen where blood profusely flows.

Jongin can hardly see though because tears have flooded everything and nothing is relevant anymore.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t listen the first time.

“Please.”

Jongin finally turns to her with his tear streaked face.

“Will you take…a girl’s heart?”

Jongin leans over to her as blood seeps over her lips, staining them.

“What?” He manages, hiccupping.

“I thought…” Victoria raggedly breathes. “I thought that no one deserved a second chance after,” a few coughs, “what they did to my father, refusing to treat him because of a false accusation about being involved in an Anti-Korean movement.”

Jongin tries to ignore the commotion around him as the sound of handcuffs and screaming and crying is heard all about.

“I wanted them to know what they did,” she breathily continues. “But I was stupid to think I wouldn’t get hurt. But…” she finds it hard to go on. “A girl’s heart…will you…a-a-ccept i-“

Her body goes limp and Jongin bounces upwards screaming around him, dancing with intensity towards anyone who will listen.

A policeman who notices bounds over.

“We need a doctor!” Jongin yelps. “We need her heart in time for-“

 

 

 

 

7:46 PM

Hour 24

Jongin kisses pearly white skin.

An unconscious and sickly Kyungsoo rests in bed.

He doesn’t worry about the grime that seems to rub off on his best friend or the tears that soak the hospital gown.

Jongin in the scent of living Kyungsoo. Alive Kyungsoo.

He breathes it in as if it’s his life and contemplates whether his splitting headache is being cured.

“Jongin.”

A voice startles him and he turns.

“The heart is ready for surgery,” he says. “Your quick thinking and honorable bravery has just saved a life.”

Jongin closes his eyes.

“All we need to do is put it to use,” the doctor goes on, smiling as he preps Kyungsoo for surgery.

Jongin knows he needs to leave and as he stands he bends over one last time.

Bowing forward, he presses his lips to Kyungsoo’s clammy forehead.

And he utters words out of exasperation and possibly a bit of love.

“See you when you wake up.”

.

.

.

Author’s note: This was not the reality that I wanted. Ha. Ha. no. This changed so much :\ oh well. I ended up uploaded the forward on AFF just to force myself to hurry up and write it. And it’s five times longer than what it was supposed to be so… ugh yeah. Very much inspired from the Thai movie Power Kids. It’s ing awesome. So anyway, this kinda…failed…ugh yeah. I think I just ruined all of your lives…erm…sorry…so comment?