Dry and cracked lips part, hot, dry breath ghosting over them in sharp pants as Myungsoo collapses to the ground of the abandoned building. Dust floats through the air, the reflecting moonlight creating an ethereal setting for the room, but broken glass and wooden boxes quickly dispel that fantastical image, giving way to something more intense, more real.

There’s probably some glass mixed in with the dirt underneath his fingernails, he thinks as he absentmindedly examines his hand. It had only been a few hours, but it was already more than enough. His nails are rough and torn, and callouses are forming on the palms of his hands where he had continually pulled at the door handle; it wouldn’t budge.

He his lips and tastes the iron tang of blood as they split on one corner. It’s strangely warm in this building, he thinks, considering the fact that it’s the middle of winter in Seoul. Or is it? His arms are covered in rough patches of dirt and shallow scratches, and his sweater ripped and torn; it’s hard to tell if he’s shivering or not.

There’s a skittering sound as a mouse expertly makes its way through the destruction, curious about the harsh breaths in the otherwise silent warehouse. As soon as it realises that he’s a possible threat, it scurries away and Myungsoo has to laugh bitterly. How was he a threat here?

 His head hurts, and all that he can remember from that day are the thunderous cracks that surround the shooting location and the loud gasp from Woohyun. There was panic and the sound of people running and shouting, but the feeling of a hand roughly grabbing his arm and the metallic gleam of the knife that was pressed up against his throat remains in his mind.

He remembers choking out just a single word, “run” as the look of pure horror in Woohyun’s eyes made his blood run cold, just seconds before the knife was removed from his throat. The hand tightened around his upper arm, and before he could even think about running, there was a sharp pain on the side of his head and he was knocked sideways. The air in the location had seemed to sparkle and shimmer as white and black spots appeared, and then everything was blank.

He wants to laugh at the irony of it. He and Woohyun had just finished filming their scenes for their newest MV: BTD; locked in an abandoned building, they had to fight each other to escape. And here he is, locked in an abandoned building with no way to escape. He can only imagine how it would look if someone rescued him; dried fake blood coupled with purple and brown tints of powder used to create bruises from the MV, and now the very real scratches and bruises he had from this ordeal; he would definitely scare whoever rescued him…them. Did Woohyun become part of this? Or is he just alone – wherever this is; whatever this is.

Scratch that – he is pretty sure he knows what this is. Their group had 4 managers when they were first put together – one manager for every 2 boys, but that soon changed. People gawk whenever they mention that they practised for 16 hours a day for their synchronisation, but that’s the short story; it used to be longer. Their fourth manager believed that 2-3 hours of sleep was enough. He belittled them for their mistakes and scheduled weigh-ins every 3 days; if you hadn’t lost weight, you gained another hour of dancing.

They had been young and new in the industry then – they still were, but that incident changed them, their innocent minds introduced to the harsh reality that could be the entertainment industry. Believing that all groups went through the same training, they kept their complaints to themselves, Sunggyu providing encouragement and Sungyeol providing entertainment to keep their spirits up. Until the day when both he and Sungjong had been hospitalised with malnutrition and exhaustion, only 16 and 18 years old at the time. That manager had been fired the minute he and the maknae had collapsed to the ground, but he left screaming insults along with a promise that they would regret it.  They hadn’t heard anything from him since, so why now?

Both sore and exhausted, he and Woohyun hadn’t noticed that the crew had disappeared while they were gathering their bags from the side wall. Had there been some kind of warning? Did that manager have some kind of relationship with the filming crew? Was that how he got there?  Their ‘set’ was an old building on the outskirts of Seoul; no one would be there unless there was a reason.  Was that where he was now? Why was he there? What did that manager gain from locking him in a building? The more he thinks, the more questions bombard his mind, ever reminding him of his situation: the door would not budge, no matter how much he clawed at it.

He sighs, wondering what time it is. He had first woken to this hell hole what he assumed to be hours ago, when the sunlight was still visible through the small windows. Now it was night, the entire place cast into shadows. It’s eerie how similar it is to the MV, he thinks.

There’s a scuffing sound, and he writes it off as another mouse until he hears the grinding of a rusty lock turning and the low groan of the door opening. He pushes himself up, his bruised side from the filming protesting at the sudden movement. There’s a flash against the moonlight as something is thrown into the room. Myungsoo hardly dares to breathe, waiting in anticipation for the door to slam shut; it doesn’t.

The crumpled ball of paper looks harmless against the backdrop of destruction as he nears it. Unfolding the paper, he grimaces at each fold, waiting for some message of death; it’s blank. He stares down at the paper disbelievingly and casts his gaze around the room. There’s no one there and all he has is a piece of blank paper. He has no idea where he is; no idea whether he is alone or if the members are with him. He has no idea if this is even real, or if it’s a nightmare. It scares him.

Is it just a dream? Is he just sleeping in the van and having a bad dream influenced by their MV? The crumpled paper in his hands is shaking, and he belated realises he is trembling. Trying to escape would be the most obvious plan, but he is no longer sure. He wants to cling to the broken-down machine in the corner and never leave this room. In here he’s safe; in here he’s alone. Rational thoughts overtake emotions, and he finds himself taking hesitant steps toward the open door.

There’s a flash and another ball of paper lands at his feet. Whether it’s courage or fear, he bends down to grab it and un-balls this paper much faster than the previous; it’s blank. Another flies through the open door and lands to his side, and then another. He stares down at them absentmindedly, his conscious seemingly frozen. A third ball rolls into the others and something within him snaps. He snatches it from the ground and throws it back out eyes wide and darting back and forth, searching the darkness of beyond the door. He waits, and nothing happens.

Nearly crazed he snatches another ball and brings his arm back to throw it, but quickly decides otherwise and tears at the paper, nearly ripping it in two as he unfurls it.

You two ruined my life, and now I’ll ruin yours

There’s a noise, and he belatedly realises it’s his own frightened whine as he reels back, bunching the paper in his hand. Falling to the ground in fear, he knocks the last ball to the side. It rolls to a stop by a pile of broken wood, moonlight from the window shining down upon it as if it is some special sign. The silence of the building is deafening, apart from his harsh breaths and thudding heartbeat. He almost snorts as his mind distractedly focuses on counting his loud heartbeats, counting them one by one.

If he had been thinking logically at that moment, he would have immediately thought about the fact that someone had to throw the paper in and unlock the door; someone had to be in the building with him, and if they weren’t coming in to meet him, then it probably wasn’t Woohyun. But his mind is frozen, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins with every heartbeat only serves as a pathway for fear to flood his being.

He wants to turn back; the broken machine in the corner is more inviting than ever. He’s standing in the moonlight, the last ball of paper grasped tightly in his hands. The time from sitting on the ground to now slowly unfolding the last ball of paper is lost.

You have until dawn

If something snapped within him before, now it explodes and sends pieces everywhere. Laughter bubbles up from inside of him; it’s too much, too similar – that manager wouldn’t know about it. He whips around to the door, expecting to find the rest of the Infinite members standing there with stupid grins on their faces, laughing at their practical joke. Dongwoo’s birthday was 2 weeks ago, and he wonders if the other members were doing this since they didn’t play a joke on the dinosaur. But there’s no one there.

He glances back down at the paper, anger and annoyance replacing the fear. Re-balling the paper, he throws it to the side and heads toward the door, his main goal now to find the other members and strangle them for playing such a horrible joke. Something in the deep recesses of his mind whispers and warns him that it may not be the members, and that this kidnapping may actually be real, but he shoves the thoughts away as soon as they surface.

Stepping through the threshold of the doorway, he finds no hidden camera crews and huffs, another wave of annoyance rushing through him. The hallway is dark, and he can only see a few metres before it disappears into the darkness. He only has the clothes on his back with him, his bag dropped on the floor when he first felt the grip of that hand and the knife against his throat. A pang of fear shoots through him at that thought. Would the members have gone as far as using a real knife?

A cold sweat breaks out as the whispering in his mind grows; no. His heartbeat speeds up and he suddenly feels dizzy, legs trembling and muscles weak. He wants to be strong and brave, but this has suddenly become real and his vision blurs as tears well up, slowly spilling down his cheeks. Their warmth causes him to shiver; he doesn’t cry often, but he can’t help it.

Amidst his silent tears, his senses seem to adapt, strengthening themselves in defence of the courage he lacks. The sound of uneven footsteps from down the hallway shocks his tears into submission, and he nearly throws himself back into the room from whence he came. Adrenaline rushes through him again as he looks around for anything he could use to protect himself; he grabs a piece of wood with a bent nail on the one end for self-defence and prepares himself for whatever is coming. But who comes through the door is not whom he expects.

Lee Sungjong, the maknae of their group hesitantly steps through the threshold, a steel pipe in one hand and a chain wrapped around his other wrist. Myungsoo freezes, holding his breath while examining the younger boy. In a situation such as this, the maknae appears uncommonly calm and calculating, he thinks. Normally the image of chains and steel pipes wouldn’t suit the happy boy, but at the moment even Myungsoo is afraid to approach him.

He wants to jump out and scream at the youngest – scream about the fact that their prank went too far and question the idea that even the maknae would join in on it. But as the younger slowly scans the room, his breath hitches, seeing the look within the other’s eyes. He had only seen it one other time when he and the younger had gotten stuck in an elevator at the mall for 5 hours; fear, there was fear in the horror-movie-loving maknae’s eyes. He coughs in the dusty air from beside the pile of broken wood and shrinks back as the maknae immediately spins around, the steel pipe whistling through the air. Praying that he isn’t in some alternate reality, he steps out into the moonlight and whispers to the younger boy.

“I-it’s me Jongie, it’s Myungsoo.”

The blonde hair seems to glow in the moonlight as the younger takes more hesitant steps toward him until they’re only a metre apart.

“I-is it really you hyung?” In any other situation he would laugh and make fun of the high pitched squeak that cracks through the younger’s voice, but instead he revels in it as his own fear washes away; he isn’t alone. Throwing down his piece of wood he runs to the younger, pulling him into a hug and allowing himself to relax. It’s all a dream, just a dream.

The arms that wrap around him are trembling, and Myungsoo can feel the shaking breaths quickly drawn in and out from the maknae’s chest pressed against his own. There’s a loud clang as the steel pipe drops from Sungjong’s grasp and the younger claws at his back as if to pull him closer. If it was possible, he would hug the younger even tighter, but at the moment he settles for the blonde hair with his hand and pressing his cheek against the other’s.

“You’re okay Jongie, we’re okay,” he whispers against the maknae’s ear. It’s silent again, other than the heavy breathing of the boy in his arms, and Myungsoo finally allows his racing heart to calm for a moment. Bewilderment flashes through his mind as he realises the situation: Sungjong had been at the shooting location as well, having gone to encourage his hyungs on one of their last days of shooting. So if Sungjong is there, where is Woohyun?

He reluctantly pulls back, gripping the younger by the shoulders. “Have you seen Woohyun-hyung?” Sungjong’s eyes widen, and Myungsoo unconsciously tightens his grip, unsure if the reaction is good or not.

“They got you first…I-I thought you were d-...Woohyun-hyung and I ran and we managed to get outside, but they were waiting for us. Hyunie managed to knock a few out, but then another one came up from behind! He h-he had a gun hyung!” Sungjong breaks off and Myungsoo feels him weaken, his grip now the only thing holding him up. He frowns and pulls the younger back to his chest, sitting down upon the cold ground. He wants to give the maknae time, but they are clearly part of something, and if the paper from earlier is anything to go by, they only have until dawn…for something – that part he isn’t sure about yet.

 “What else Jongie?”

“T-the police were coming by then – I could hear the sirens, and the guy became really angry. He was going to go for Hyunie first, but I grabbed him and told hyung to run. I do-don’t really know what happened after that…something hard hit the back of my neck, and then I woke up here a few hours later with my hand ch-chained to the wall.” The boy’s voice is slightly muffled by his shoulder, but he can still understand. If Woohyun managed to get away and there had been police at the location, then surely he and Sungjong would be found soon, he thinks.

Myungsoo glances down at the younger’s wrist for the first time and sees the red and raw skin from where the chain is still wrapped. Blue and black marks curl themselves out from under the rusting chain; a blotchy pattern upon the younger’s skin making him see red for a moment in anger at whoever did this.

“Did you see who it was Jongie?” he grits out, teeth clenching as he tries to keep his emotions in check.

“Hi-him…it was him.” He doesn’t need to question who ‘he’ is – he’s now completely sure. Another wave of fear washes over him as he thinks back to the two notes. That manager now had a reputation, and he assumed that he hadn’t able to get another job – that would account for ‘ruining his life’, but what about ‘until dawn’?

A growl breaks the silence, and Myungsoo feels a soft smile flit across his face.

“When we get out of here, I’ll make Sunggyu-hyung buy us big bowl of spicy rice cakes, okay?” He whispers, hoping to distract the distraught boy from their current situation. The younger nods into his shoulder and wraps his arm around Myungsoo’s neck. Myungsoo notices the other hand lays cradled in Sungjong’s lap and he hugs the boy closer, fists tightening and nails digging into his palms.

“Does your wrist hurt? How did you get away? Did he do anything else to you?” His anger takes over and he hardly pauses between each question.

“The metal I was ch-chained to was really rusty, and after a few hard pulls it b-broke,” Sungjong replies while slightly shaking his head and attempting to bury it deeper into Myungsoo’s shoulder. Myungsoo wants to question whether it was just the metal of the wall that broke, seeing the amount of bruising surrounding the wrist, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to not say anything.

Glancing around the room, his eyes alight on the ball of paper he threw in disgust earlier and his heartbeat races once again, panic rushing through him as he finally understands: someone had to open the door and throw the balls to him; someone had to be there with them, and more than likely it was that manager. Quickly standing up with Sungjong in his arms, he throws an arm around the maknae’s waist and grabs the steel pipe with his other hand.

“We-we’ve got to get out of here Jongie!” Fear leaks into his voice no matter how much he tries to stop it, and he has to will his shaking legs to take the first few steps. Fans may call him cold and emotionless, but he is just better at hiding his emotions than others. And because of that, people always forget that he is the second youngest of the group, only a year older than the boy in his arms. But at a time like this he’s allowed to be scared, he thinks. And yet, he has to be strong for his only dongsaeng at this moment.

“Which way did you come from Jongie?” he questions the younger once they’re standing in the hall. He turns toward the right, the opposite of what Sungjong pointed and notices with relief that there is a faint light at this end of the hallway. Without major injuries to their legs, the two quickly find themselves in what seems to be a stairwell after a few minutes of walking. Myungsoo however never removes his hand from the younger’s waist, providing emotional support for the both of them.

There’s a gasp from above them, followed by a sickening laugh and Myungsoo glances up to see the barrel of a gun pointing straight down at them. He nearly throws the two of them underneath the landing as bullets fly, and he can feel the flying debris of the concrete floor pelting them as he covers the younger. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it feels like forever when the deafening sound stops, only to be replaced by the gasping breaths of the shuddering boy beneath him.

The hollow metal bang of the door to the first floor slamming against the concrete wall causes him to freeze, and he can feel Sungjong stiffen against his side. Sliding down the wall as he drops to the floor, he quickly pulls the younger against him in a hug, allowing him to bury his whimpers against his chest, he himself muffling his own whines in the blonde hair. That man is here, waiting for them; by ‘ruining their lives’ he meant to kill them.

 “You’re okay Jongie, we’re okay,” he whispers the same words from earlier in the night, this time into the boy’s hair before pressing a kiss to the younger’s temple. We’re okay… He wants to believe himself, but he can’t stop the cold fear that has grabbed his heart and twisted it into a knot. Why had the man stopped shooting? He and Sungjong were completely open and vulnerable, so why didn’t he come down and finish his work? Why hadn’t he shot at them earlier or killed them right away? The man probably took some sick pleasure in making them suffer in fear for the night, he thinks, disgusted that at some point he had called that man hyung.

Resting his head on top of the youngers, he sighs, shivering as his mind tauntingly draws up the thought that maybe no one is coming for them – it’s been hours and no one has found them. Staring out before him, he scans the ground, now littered with holes from the bullets and metal casings. It’s then that he notices it – there’s a white ball of paper lying amongst the destruction.

“M-my leg hurts hyung.” The quiet voice sounds as if it’s from miles away, and the shifting of the younger boy in his arms draws his attention back from the white ball. His eyes slowly rove down the younger’s hunched body until they land on his bloody leg; he can’t process it, and his mind is blank for a few seconds as he stares in disbelief. His mind is so overloaded with worry and fear that he finds himself almost detached from his own body, a strange calm coming over him; shaking hands are the only thing that betray him. Biting his lip, he gently inspects the wound on the maknae’s leg and sighs in relief as he discovers that it’s merely a superficial wound.  “You’re okay, Jongie, we’re okay,” he murmurs once again, partly to distract the younger and partly to reassure himself as he rips off one of his sleeves and ties it around the wound.

With the younger taken care of for now, his mind wanders back to the piece of paper that is sitting innocently amongst all the chaos. Eyeing it, he picks up a chunk of cement from beside him and throws it into the open; nothing happens. Sighing, he glances down at the maknae whose tear filled eyes are riddled with signs of pain and fear. I’m not the one who’s strong, he thinks, it’s Sungjong. Standing up, he determinedly steps over to the ball and snatches it from the ground, unravelling and reading it in the limited moonlight.

Dawn is approaching

“Are we r-really going to be o-k-kay hyung?” The question alone breaks his heart, and the abandonment of hope in the younger’s voice sends the pieces of it flying. He doesn’t reply, but kneels down before the younger. “Get on Jongie, we’re getting out of here.” His voice comes out much stronger than he was expecting and he breathes heavily as the younger throws his arms around his neck. He still hasn’t told Sungjong about the messages, and at this point he doesn’t plan to.

The ground floor of the building is much brighter, and he finds slight comfort in the fact that he can see more of the building. The first floor seems to be a similar layout to the basement as they find themselves looking down another hallway with rooms on each side. It’s probably useless looking in the rooms, he thinks, as the entrance should be more noticeable and pronounced than just a simple room, but three quarters of the way down the hall, he is stopped by the younger tapping on his shoulder.

“Jongie, we have to g-“

“Wh-what is that hyung?” Myungsoo offhandedly wonders whether it’s healthy for one’s heart to nearly stop so many times in one night as the younger’s curious and yet scared voice stops him. Sungjong is pointing into a room with no door, and he is sorely tempted to continue walking and not look. He’d been forced to watch his fair share of horror movies with the maknae, and everything is telling him that it’s going to be a dead body.

Still, part of him is curious, especially since he has yet to figure out why dawn is such an important time. Lightly setting the younger on the ground behind him, he raises the steel pipe in his hand, ready to use it if he has to when he enters the room. The room is small, with nothing in it other than a pile of garbage and debris in the middle. He sighs in relief; it’s nothing, he thinks, allowing a small smile to grace his face. But as he continues to stare at the pile in the middle of the room, his stomach drops and he has a horrible feeling about what he’s about to discover.

Puting the steel pipe in the maknae’s good hand, he whispers words of comfort as he leaves Sungjong by the door and takes hesitant steps toward the mess. There’s a black bag hidden beneath the debris and a white piece of paper folded on top of it. With shaking hands he unfolds it, bile already rising in his throat as he can guess what it is going to say.

Goodbye

His breath comes in short gasps as he quickly s the black bag. It looks simple and small, but sometimes the worst things come in the smallest packages. There is a cellphone with wires attached to something beneath it, but Myungsoo doesn’t need to know what it is attached to – it’s clear what this is. He cautiously touches the power button on the phone, the screen coming to life with what looks like an alarm on it. 3:13…3:12….3:11. The second he realises it’s counting down he glances at the time on the phone: 5:58 AM.

Letting out a yell, he scrambles up, running toward the younger and grabbing onto his arm, uncaring at this point if he hurts the maknae’s injured wrist. An injury can be healed, death cannot. Now he knows why that man had stopped shooting – he had run.

“Run! We have to run Jongie!” The younger seems to sense the danger they’re in and doesn’t protest, throwing the steel pipe somewhere along the hall so it wouldn’t slow them down. Myungsoo pretends not to notice the wince of the maknae’s every other step and the sweater sleeve that is slowly turning red, but he can’t help feel responsible.

They reach the end of the hallway, and of course it breaks off into a large room, where the entrance is in plain sight. He wants to stop and catch his breath; he wants to stop and ask if Sungjong’s wrist and leg are okay, but sometimes three minutes is the same as three seconds.

As a member of Infinite, the time of three minutes has multiple definitions. Dancing one last three minute song after 16 hours of practice lasts a lifetime. The three minute wait backstage before a performance feels like 3 days. After jogging along the Han River for an hour in the mornings, the three minute stint of sprinting at the end feels like another 3 hours. A three minute performance feels as though it’s over in seconds. The three minutes of sleep they have between schedules in the van is almost non-existent. He wishes three minutes could last for a lifetime at this moment, but it doesn’t.

They burst through the doors of the front entrance and he doesn’t even stop to think about where to run, as long as they continue running away. In the distance, he can see flashing lights against the darkness that is still just before dawn. He can hear shouts and can see what looks like the police throwing someone to the ground. They’re getting closer, and he laughs; laughs for no reason other than the fact that there are people coming for them – that they’re saved.

And in that moment, the building explodes.

The two of them aren’t far enough from it; the blast throws them like ragdolls. Sungjong is ripped from his arms, and he lands with a sickening sound a few metres from him, broken wrist at an odd angle. Myungsoo lands on the side that is already bruised from the MV shooting and he grunts in pain as the white and black spots float across his vision again. There’s a loud ringing in his ears, and he can’t tell if their rescuers are any closer or not.

Sungjong’s eyes are closed, and his blonde hair is quickly turning red. Myungsoo coughs and blood slowly spills from his lips. The blaze of the fire behind him lights up the image of the younger boy, who even now still manages to look angelic-like with the fire glinting off his blonde hair. His vision is fading, or it’s getting darker, he thinks as he reaches a hand out toward the blurring image of the still boy before him.

It’s just before the dawn.

I’ll hold on tightly so you can’t leave
I’ll grab onto you so I won’t have to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I wrote this as more of a brotherly love type myungjong than romantic, but I left it open – same with the ending, it’s open for interpretation.  I tried to incorporate BTD lyrics in the story as well, plus the obvious ones at the end.

This is my first time writing something like this, so I hope it turned out well! :D Thank you to everyone for reading, commenting and subscribing!