Word Count: 636

Summary: Not guilty

A/N: Part 4 of 6. Based off of the murderess from Cell Block Tango.

Translation at bottom

Gazing helplessly around the stark room, Junmyeon felt lost as garbled words were thrown at him.

    “Nǐ shāle zhège rén*?” the man sitting across from the desk demanded. He could only blink away tears that threatened to drip down and shake his head.

    “Nǐ shāle zhège rén?” the man repeated, more firmly, jabbing his finger down on a photo.

    “No, no, no!” Junmyeon garbled, staring helplessly down at the photo.

    The pale face of his husband looked back up from him, the head detached from the rest of his body. The very sight had his lunch lurching up from his stomach.

    “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he babbled, eyes wide at the picture.

    The man in front of him sighed and said to the window behind Junmyeon, “Wǒ bù rènwéi tā néng lǐjiě.**” As though getting a sign from the people standing behind the glass, the police officer stood up and grabbed his upper arm.

    “Ràng wǒmen qù,***” he simply said, while hauling Junmyeon away. Bewildered, he stumbled after the man, the cuffs around his wrists clanking behind him. As he lead Junmyeon further into what he could only describe as a prison, the inmates sneered at him from behind their bars.

    The guard, waved his baton at the sneering men, shouting in angry Chinese. He continued to lead Junmyeon further down into the cells, the lights in the corridors fading until Junmyeon could only see cracked, yellowed teeth flashing at him and dragon tattoos winding away up thick arms interrupted by scars.

    He whimpered quietly to himself as the man mercilessly dragged the thin man down, down, down further into hell.

    They finally seemed to stop at a cell before the man shouted at the inmates who slinked away to the corner of the cell, eyes glinting darkly. Junmyeon was thrown in as seem as he got the door open and the heavy slam of the door seemed to lock away his freedom.

    Trembling at where he stood, his eyes slowly adjusted until he could see his fellow roommates-cellmates, his brain almost traitorously provided for him. Junmyeon almost yearned to be put back into the stark room; at least the other room didn’t have leering inmates.

    “Hǎo, hǎo, hǎo,****” one man drawled from atop a bed. His hair was dyed a blonde, the strands mussed attractively. Junmyeon just stared with a terrified fascination as another man, a pretty one, slithered down from his own bunk.

    “Nín de míngzì shì shénme?******” the young faced one asked-he didn’t look over 20- and he caught the Chinese word for name.

    “J-Junmyeon,” he stuttered out, afraid to deny these men anything.

    “Ah, Korean,” he said in accented Korean as Jumyeon blinked at his native language. He didn’t say anything else but just bobbed his head nervously.

    Circling around the frightened man, the inmate asked in his inflicted Korean, “What is a pretty little thing like you doing here?”

    Junmyeon didn’t waste a second as he vomited out his story of how the police had shown up at his and Chen, his husband, hotel after he had just walked in. He had been in a state of numb disbelief, alcohol sluggishly pumping through his veins from celebrating with his husband’s concert, when they had tackled him to the ground. He recalled how reporters had blinded him with their flashing cameras, screaming at his in terrible Korean whether he had murdered Chen with his infamous lover, Baekhyun. They clawed at his clothes, snapping up his red rimmed eyes, his smeared eyeliner, the blood dried on his hands, capturing everything on their incriminating cameras.

    When he finally came to a mumbling stop, the pretty one asked him quietly, “Yeah, but did you do it?”

    Looking up with watery eyes, he looked him straight in the eye and firmly said, “Not guilty.”

A/N: *Did you kill this man

**I don't think he understands

***Let's go

****Well, well, well

*****What's your name,

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