Minho fell with nothing to impact his fall on the hard floor.

He spat blood from his mouth at the assaulter, giving him the finger before wiping his mouth, “ you.”

SangJung grabbed Minho up, pushing him to the wall, but Minho had enough of it all; trying to stop from responding to look trustworthy. No, he couldn’t prove himself to anyone, there was no point of trying.

His creature’s strength forced SangJung off of him and got a good hit to his face, grunting in anger as he watched the man stumble back, “I didn’t do anything!”

SangJung cracked his neck, “Nothing, boy?” he growled, round-kicking Minho to the wall, “Stealing a boy’s ity isn’t monstrous? , even?” he found more strength to pummel Minho. If it weren’t for Minho’s effort to fight back, he’d be a broken mess.

They went at it for a few minutes, hits going back and forth continuously, both bleeding in the mouth. Minho couldn’t find it in him to feel the pain or somberness of it. He was completely fed up and SangJung needed to realize he wasn’t going to take any of his even if it meant costing him his life.

  “That—” Minho struggled with SangJung, fighting off embarrassment of his words, “—is none of your business!”

Minho kicked SangJung back strongly with a killer glare, striding up to him ominously, “Because that’s ing private—”

  “Private?” SangJung growled, fist colliding with Minho’s face, “You ing demons are all the same. Thinking you can take things that don’t belong to you. You’re all pieces of goddamn work.”

Minho’s vision flashed white as he grabbed SangJung’s collar, “None of your goddamn business, but he let me,” Minho spat, shaking him, “He asked me, goddamn it.”

Minho, you said you wouldn’t refuse me.

  “I wanted to give everything to him,” he spat again, violently shoving him to the wall.

He pinned SangJung there. He was so incredibly pissed; ready to snap his neck and wait for him to die.

He was so close to doing it.

  “Do it,” SangJung dared with a smirk, teeth covered in red, “Real demons have the balls. Prove yourself to me. It just might make me a changed man, Minho.”

  “Don’t say my name,” the Daegrent growled; his vision colorless by the second. SangJung’s neck was firmly in his hold—he was giving him the chance. Then it would all be over. There would be no leader, no one to be crown of the old empire.

But him.

His anger escalated higher, thinking about Taemin.

His beaten body, bruised skin, scratched face, deliriousness . . .

Minho stopped breathing, jaw clenched as he tightened his hold and waited, the man in his grasp struggling.

He waited.

And waited.

His hold too strong.

Too strong for one human to handle.

Minho forced himself to let go and debated if what he just did the wrong thing.

. . . Should he have let go sooner?

. . . Was this something he was going to regret?

SangJung coughed, giving Minho another fist to his face before he rubbed his abused throat, “Weak. I’ve given you every reason to kill me, yet you don’t take the opportunity. Weak.”

Minho didn’t move from the floor, trying to calm himself down before he would take back letting SangJung breathe. He was going to kill him soon; kill him with fire. He had to wait for it.

  “Savage,” SangJung kicked him, but Minho grabbed his foot before he could do it twice.

  “It’s between me and him—”

  “Don’t make me snap your wing, boy,” he threatened, reaching out for his wing.

The wing flapped back at him and SangJung flying to the wall, making a crack into it. Minho huffed and smiled, trying to find it within himself not to laugh.

  “I’m not even ing trying,” Minho started getting cocky, “I’m not bowing down to you, again.”

SangJung hadn’t given in to Minho’s taunt, rubbing a hand over his head and stood slowly. There was no easy way with this man, Minho had to learn to endure.

  “So get me out,” Minho’s wings drooped, returning to his humane form, “I have no reason to be here unless getting your kicked counts.”

The elder was quick to grab Minho’s wrist, holding it up to accompany his intimidating stare.

  “This,” he shook his wrist with the burn, “Will come.”

He threw his arm down, wiping his face before he laid a finger on the younger’s chest, “You better know your place from now on, boy. I may let you have your days, but I’m as sure as hell that I don’t have to. Keep it up and you’ll never see sunlight or Taemin again.”

Minho’s eye twitched, punching the door right as it shut. His body heated up again and he laid his head on the chilled wall to slow himself down again.

He laughed.

Minho laughed. He felt like he finally won against him. He won the beginning of the battle, and with enough of his own army, the end was nearing.

There were just a few kinks to fix.

Intimidation never looked so helpless.

Minho was working all over the place and had no rest that day; surely off of SangJung’s orders. He went hallway to hallway, room to room, yard to yard, and job to job. By the time of night hit, Minho was so tired he could barely remember the mapping in his head.

  “One more time,” the guard on the speaker ordered.

Minho was limp in the air, held up by the chains around his wrists, body glistening of hours worth of sweat with his hair stringy and dripping. Even though he wasn’t being punished intentionally, this was worse than torture.

  “. . . Can’t,” Minho breathed, his eyes shut with his head hanging low. He felt too weak now; he exerted way too much for him to handle—he even thought that was impossible, once.

  “If you don’t,” the scientist took the mic, “We can tighten your restrains and send waves into your body. You’re not only going to burn, Daegrent, you’re going to paralyze. Now move it!”

Minho clenched his teeth, the mention of burning reminding him of the special chains around his wrists like the very first day; the burned him when he struggled; when he fought off the others. Now they used it as testing; as work. He had seen all his power been transferred into a small capsule, dim gray light pulsing inside each time he struggled.

Paralyzing didn’t sound like the greatest either . . .

He couldn’t tell if it was sweat in his eye or he produced his own tears out of his pain, but he scrunched up his face, shouting loudly into the soundproof room and forced himself to struggle against his special restraints, trying to pull his arms inward.

Shouting covered up his cry to stop; for help; as the burns sank deeply through his skin and made his skin crawl with bubbles. It was nothing like branding and neither was it like the first day into submission. It kept travelling through his arms, surrounding his neck and feeling as the he were electrocuted throughout the rest of his body. It was all zig-zagging through his flesh, poking the surfaces, trying to bust through.

The pain hit him in the back; even though his wings were retracted and gone, he still felt them as if they were flapping out, the surge putting them through seizure over and over.

Minho was going to throw up any second.

He felt too hot all over—too overused—his muscle so sore and weak, just like his conscience. Each time he struggled, something about Taemin buzzed through him; and it wasn’t in the good way. He could see it so fuzzily, so feint, but he just knew it wasn’t what he wanted.

The dots started crowding around the outer edges of his vision and Minho stopped exerting himself, letting himself hang limp once more. He was done, he couldn’t do anymore.

His chest was too tight to breathe correctly, his heart was way over the speed limit, and he couldn’t feel the rest of his body if he could even try. This was enough. He was at his physical peak.

  “C-ca . . .” he could barely manage.

Minho hung there in the middle of the large room, waiting for any instruction. This time, he’d take it. He couldn’t rebel at all at this point; he just wanted to go home and sleep with Taemin in the same bed.

Minho was slowly lowered. Each time he’d moved, the chains burned him once more even though his struggles weren’t intentional. He just had to wait to be removed.

His bare feet hit the ground, but the rest of his body couldn’t make it. He fell to his knees at the chance they got and all the way twisted into sitting. He couldn’t bear standing at this point—his legs were far gone.

A guard’s footsteps tapped on the ground surface, their covered hands releasing Minho and he slumped on to his back with his head hitting the ground hard.

  “C’mon, M609,” the young male voice whispered, “You gotta cooperate with me, here, if you wanna get back to your room in peace.”

Minho groaned, reluctant as the rather kind person helped Minho up, putting his arm around his shoulders and carrying him out of the area to see his room.

  “Once I get you into your room, I can get Luna to get your healer-up things,” he whispered again, guiding them out of the building through a dingy wall; the familiar clean hallway daunting in Minho’s eyes.

Minho mumbled something, maybe even a thanks to his generosity, but only came out as a hummed mess.

The person opened up Minho’s door and carefully led him inside, saying something, but Minho heard none of it.

He collided with his mattress, eyes automatically shutting to wander absolutely no where but the safety of black.

Luna slowly stepped into the room dimmed by the cold evening sky, a beat up silver tray in her hands with contents that she wanted to supply the overexerted Daegrent with. She could instantaneously smell the person once the door was opened and his need for a dire shower. She slightly mumbled, praising herself for bringing some stale air freshener with her.

She placed the tray down on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of Minho’s mattress, removing her squished feet from her shoes and socks. She stretched and cracked them, sighing as she looked at the face of sleeping stress.

She ran her fingers through his knotted, nappy hair, stirring him from sleep with half-open sleepy eyes. Minho was trying to comprehend the stranger in his room, turning on the night vision to find Luna’s softly smiling face. He sighed peacefully, his head curling forward for her better reach of access.

They both kept quiet as she unintentionally tried fixing Minho’s disarray of hair, trapping each curly lock between her fingers and folding them over.

The longer the silence drew out, and the evening turned to a black, starless night, Minho grew nervous, taking an initial guess as to what happened over at her side of the plan.

He could see her trying to squint, adjusting her eyes to the disability of darkness, trying to find Minho once more.

Minho would think by now, and that sad yet serene look on her face, Taemin was through with it all and ready to quit and leave—without Minho.

He clenched his jaw at the mere thought of Taemin no longer broken. No longer confused or hurt. And no longer in love with the monster. He never thought of it that way; that it could even happen. He and Taemin were the closest people known to man and the first part of their closeness was to understand.

But ‘Known to man’ didn’t include him.

They went through school, dates, game nights, and had lived in a home together, even. They were so happy—so normal—that Minho had once believed he was no longer a creature.

How wrong he was proved.

  “Don’t tell me,” he whispered, “Don’t tell me, please.”

Luna kept quiet, continuing the silence of the night without a single expression on her face. She hadn’t even given him a nod, or a single response, but continued with his hair, a hand grabbing something off the beaten tray, some small flower of a sort, and pressed it to his forehead.

Minho could feel a slight ache in his head and cringed at the pain, but once Luna slowly swiped the plant across his skin, he felt a little more alleviated.

  “But he’s okay, Minho.”

Minho closed his eyes and sighed—although, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or unsettled.

With Taemin okay, that left Minho a little content; glad that Taemin could manage to pick himself up again.

But if he was okay and had a clear head . . .

  “No more gibberish,” she went on, completely disregarding Minho’s request, “He’s back to normal again—full sentences. When he’s afraid, yes, he’ll go back, but he’s ninety-seven percent okay.”

  “Luna—”

  “He’s . . . indecisive,” she cut him off, “Minho, I talked to him.”

Minho removed her hands, “Please—”

  “He doesn’t want to forget.”

He opened his eyes again and held back on. Did he hear that right?

  “What?”

Luna held his hands in hers, blatantly avoiding his wrists, “For the wrong reasons.”

The wrong reasons? “What?”

  “I talked with him—introduced myself, what I do, how I care, and the rest. I even subtly tried to clear your name. Minho, you know, you realize, he’s so . . . confused.”

Minho sat up, growling with little energy, “But I tried! I tried explaining!”

  “Minho—”

He stood, pacing for a moment, some newfound anger surpassing his weakness. He grabbed the edge of the cutout of his barred window, trying to calm himself as he looked out the wing, seeing yet another wing across a yard—to think, once this yard was a beautiful, Daegrent-ran, courtyard—, “He won’t listen to me, you, not even Onew. No one, Luna. He’s stuck like this. What more can I do? I want to escape and take him with me, but . . . Luna, I can’t go anywhere without him,” he placed his forehead on the cutout, his skin scraping against the uneven concrete, “But how do I even do it? Why would he even—” he stopped himself from getting angry, yet fought himself from being upset. He tried to be neutral; positive, even. But this immature set of emotions always found their way to his floodgates and opened them.

  “Choi Minho,” Luna grabbed him, forcing him to hunch down to her level, “You listen to me M609, Choi Minho, the last Royal Daegrent ever found,” she growled, “You know you aren’t going to give up, so stop acting and talking like you are. Grow up! You can’t be the superhero and then be the victim two seconds after something gets in your way! Taemin is only confused. Give it time—Give me time, Minho. That’s what I can do for you—for all of us. Let me convince him your testimony and we can set up a deal, there!”

Minho groaned, “Greatest lawyer ever.”

She took something from her shoulders—cloths—and placed them over Minho’s wrists, fastening them with a few gauze pieces to secure them for the night, “Don’t use sarcasm with me or I’ll detach your wings,” she strictly grabbed him when she finished, “I’m all serious, Minho. I’ve got to ease him in. You’re not ready to lose this—no one ever is,” she slowly went soft, sitting him back down, “Minho, I lost my brother the hard way—the dumb way—and I can’t have you leaving Taemin the hard way in your case. You two are fingers-crossed with tape plastered all around them to keep them together, judging by the way you talk about him.

  “They won’t let him go so easily, Minho,” she patted his head, “We’ve got to do this in a great miracle of time, nonetheless, to convince him of the good, keep quiet about it, and get out.”

  “He has to keep quiet?” he asked.

  “Later about that,” she shook her head, “He’ll warm up soon, I promise.

  “Now,” she let go and brought the tray on her lap, “Along with pain meds I snuck in, I skipped lunch today and figured, after seeing your schedule for today,” she looked at him sternly, “I looked like I had a day off. So it’s better for you to have it than me.”

She placed the tray with foiled bowls on to his lap, still warm, with a few utensils and two little white pills sliding around.

  “You guys are luxurious, huh?” Minho scrunched his mouth.

Luna finally chuckled, petting Minho’s hair again, “Nope. We get leftovers from the higher rank, and if the creatures get lucky, they get the leftovers from us. This should be your first official meal after, what, almost months now, Minho? Anyway, they left the premises to order tons of take-out from various places of Korea. Enjoy something homey, m’kay?”

She stood up and caressed his wrists to asses any damages before smiling a little, putting her shoes back on and making her way out the door.

  “Wait.”

She turned around just as she was about to open the door, her face asking it all.

  “. . . Take-out isn’t homey for you, isn’t it?”

Luna somberly smiled, but put in a good snort, “Don’t worry about that, Minho—”

  “I could never finish it on my own, you know,” he casually lifted up the tray as he scooted back to the wall, “Taemin always ate his like a wolf and then when he saw mine, just abandoned on the table, the wolf preyed on another little piggy.

  “So, um . . .” Minho looked down at the tray, “You haven’t eaten today either and I was wondering if, I don’t know. . .”

  “Pretend to be Taemin?”

Minho snapped his head up, caught off guard with such an answer, “Well—you know, um—”

  “I know,” she smiled again, letting go of the door and sitting back down next to him, removing her shoes and socks again, “Don’t worry, I’ll stay then. Onew doesn’t get off in another few hours finally and Taemin’s most likely sleeping, so I have nothing better. I’ll be your holographic for an hour.”

Minho stared at her, not a single word able to convey whatever this was he felt or even of thanks. She just started peeling off the foil tops of bowls and unwrapped chopsticks and plastic forks.

She wouldn’t look back up at Minho, but only to give him the pain meds that he took speedily.

  “Here,” she quietly said as she handed him his utensils.

He took them without a word and they began picking away at the take-out Minho familiarly enjoyed. It was true, it did feel homey. Like back in the house with Taemin, watching a criminal TV show, and complain about who was the handsomer of the two.

But to Luna, take-out symbolized her tortured experience in thick, dirty gray walls, with sweat and hair sticking to the surface of her skin and no way out to feel freedom between her toes.

  “Noona?”

She looked back up at Minho, the name causing her to purse her lips, “Yeah, Minho?”

Minho grabbed a piece of chicken from a bowl and held it up to , a small smile on his lips, “When we get out, I’m introducing you to American fast food. Tastes like freedom, yet you regret it the next day, then go back to eat more.”

Luna pushed her hair back and laughed as she took the chicken from his chopsticks, a hand covering as she chewed noisily, “You’re so dumb, Minho.”

He took the moment to laugh at himself as he wrapped the noodles around his chopsticks, instead playing with his food. He stopped himself again, erasing his joke and looking at her once more, “Noona?”

She smiled as she swallowed rolling her eyes, “Hmm?”

  “You and Onew,” he slowly pulled out the thought, “Almost day one, you two have been, well, fingers crossed.”

A shyer smile from Luna came out and she looked down, “Yeah, Minho.”

  “Is there tape plastered all around your fingers to keep them together?”

Luna kept quiet for a second, stealing a few pieces of meat from a bowl before resting her head on the wall, staring back at Minho, “Yeah . . . Yeah.”

  “Good,” Minho nodded, “Because if there wasn’t, Onew would be in some serious trouble with me about it.”

The night vision was most valuable, right there. Watching as Luna truly blushing at his words, sticking her chopsticks in and biting down on them. Luna was so pretty, so gracious.

And if Onew really didn’t plaster all that tape around, Minho would’ve done it for him.

  “So . . . when are you guys having the baby?”

Luna’s sticks flew across Minho’s lap, leaving the younger in a laughing fit as her eyes bugged out of her head, “Minho!”

  “Yeah, make sure to name him after me!”

She roughly nudged at his shoulders and covered her face with both hands, “We already agreed—on a hypothetical note—it’s either Sungmin for boy or Naeun for a girl. So shut up!”

Minho stopped his chuckling and still watched her cover her face. Minho almost melted in his spot, shock following through to her statement. He finally felt it hit him. He finally felt the turning point.

They were really planning.

They were really planning for escape.  To have a life.

----Note~----

A WHOLE NINE-PAGED CHAPTER. WHOOOOOOOOO.

...So, HI.

I don't want to say I'm officially back, yet at the same time, I do. Makes complete sense, amIright? 

This weekend I've just been writing, and I really don't know why or how I've got the energy for it, but I did.

I'm still very busy and I'm still on my way to getting better, but I think I can manage to write at least a little day by day again, at least in my notebook.

I'm so sorry it's been so long too! ^^;;;

BUT YEAH!

Congrats to SHINee for winning number one at the MelOn awards (Laaaaate)! Anyone else cry when they all started crying??? SO MANY TEARS.

And seeing Kai cry, too, omfg. He voted so many times for SHINee, he had to be so glad it paid off. 

WHO ELSE WANTS THE EVERYBODY ALBUM???

I'm in love with Colorful and Close the Door because it reminds me of DBSK (Those DBSK feels, guys. They hit hard). Destination is my favorite too. <333 That whole album. <33333333333

And any VIPS/YG peeps? Ringa Linga, Doom Dada, and Missing You??? ALL SO PERFECT OMFG.

BACK ON TOPIC.

I hope it was a good chapter, guys! Lots going on and lots being planned! Tell me what you think!

Also, if you hadn't seen the little update note on the side, ETR is now planned to have ABOUT 34 chapters within it. But also plan on any extra endings to be included in BTS. Sound good?? c:

I hope I'm truly back guys, because, jeez, this has hit 2098 views, five upvotes, and 52 subs. I need to provide!

I'm so thankful to those who subbed while I'm gone! It was a shock! I wouldn't expect subs to sub during a hiatus-ed story! But I'm thankful to all of you as a whole!

So have a good Sunday, guys! <33333

~Over-Excited, Mushy, Grateful, FlaMinhoe