The first day Luhan was in the camp, he experienced many things. Within a few hours of being in the camp, the rain came, which was a pretty huge shock. He was just lying down, having spoken to no one, trying to comprehend and accept his fate when the sprinklers overhead began pouring down on him and everyone else. Shocked, Luhan figured there was a fire, and began panicking, wondering if they would all be burned alive. However, those around him only leaned back to catch the water in their mouths, or cupped their hands and drank it that way. Then they rubbed at their arms and legs as if to clean them. Luhan had sat up at the beginning of the showering, but otherwise hadn’t reacted, not thinking to do anything himself until someone nearby nudged him. Turning, Luhan saw it was the same boy who had waved at him earlier.

“You should drink,” the boy told him. “They only do this twice a day; you’ll be thirsty by morning.” Luhan stared, not comprehending, and the other gestured at his hands, making a bowl shape with his own. “It only lasts for a minute, so hurry up.”

The message slowly got through and Luhan obeyed, drinking quickly. The water indeed stopped soon, and it ran on the floor, seeping away. Was the ground not level? Luhan’s eyes followed the streams, but couldn’t see where the water was going.

“There are drains,” the boy, who was still near him, explained, watching Luhan’s reaction. “In the middle of each sect. The floor is sloped from the outsides down to the centre, and the water runs there. We use the drains as a toilet, too.”

Luhan nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure why he expected real bathrooms to be provided, but of course there weren’t any. At least the prisoners had found a way, instead of just going on the floor when they were surrounded by other people. Sure, they were all going to be dead soon anyway, but it was nice to have at least a bit of quality in living before they were gone.

“Is there any food?” Luhan asked the stranger quietly. He was a bit surprised to receive a nod.

“Rice balls wrapped in seaweed,” the other said. “We have a system, since the guards don’t hand it out to everyone. They bring out trays of the rice and leave them on the skirts of the sections. Rather than everyone scrambling to get one, those on the outside pass them in until they reach the people in the middle. Everyone gets something that way.” Luhan thought the setup was smart. He was surprised they were fed at all; he guessed there were a hundred-thousand people in this camp alone, which added up to a lot of rice eaten every day.

The stranger was still giving Luhan his attention, as though expecting Luhan to have more questions (which of course, he did).

“My name is Luhan,” he said softly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Category nine?” the other wondered, and Luhan gave a nod. “A lot of us are, myself included. I’m Yixing.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Since the first,” Yixing replied. “I haven’t really been keeping track – doesn’t really matter, does it? – but as far as I know it’s still October.”

Luhan nodded. “The sixteenth, today.” A month and a half to go until this all ended. Luhan didn’t expect – didn’t want – to live that long, of course.

He didn’t say much else to the boy Yixing or anyone else, just sitting and trying to tune things out. It was oddly quiet, except the odd whimpering, crying sounds and soft-spoken conversations about who-knows-what.

Luhan was located nearer to the path than the centre of his sect, and therefore could see uniform-clad people pacing the area, passing him every now and then. It was a large enough place, with only a hundred guards or less, that they only came by every couple minutes. They walked in pairs of twos or on their own, all armed with heavy guns to be shot at will. On his first day, there were four gunshots that rang out in the prison, shortly followed by bodies being taken out and tension filling the air. Yixing explained that guards were free to shoot anyone they desired, whether someone be crying or snoring or just looking at the guard funny as they passed. There were no laws for the guards in these places. You behaved, or you died. (You died anyway, but you would die sooner.)

Within a couple of days, he learned the schedules – water at dusk and dawn, rice at what he guessed was noon. (And the rice, Luhan found on his second day, was not in a small ball. It had a good four-inch diameter. He was impressed.) The guards traded three times a day, every eight hours. He learned to sleep after the dusk shower, though he tended to be restless. Often times, Yixing would wake him up to tell him to be quiet, because he was making noise in his sleep and shouldn’t draw attention to himself. Once, Luhan had fallen asleep during the day – there wasn’t anything to do anyway – and when he woke up, he found he had missed mealtime. However, Yixing produced a rice ball for him, saying he’d taken the extra for when he woke up. Luhan wasn’t sure why he appreciated the boy making effort to keep him alive, but he did.

Things became routine, but Luhan continued to keep track of everything. When he received his sixth ball of rice, he counted in his head, and yes, that meant…

“It’s the twenty-second today,” Luhan murmured. “I’ve been here for almost a week. October twenty-second…”

Yixing gave him a sympathetic look, no doubt thinking how pointless it was to be keeping track. Even when they’d first met, Yixing had been vague about how long he’d been in there. The boy wasn’t bothering to count these things, but Luhan cared. Perhaps Yixing didn’t have anyone on the outside. Why would he? His family, friends, they were all likely in China, not safe. But Luhan had someone.

He counted on his fingers. How long until December 1^st?

“Forty days,” he sang under his breath. “And counting…”

“Hm?” Yixing wondered beside him. He was lying back, staring up at the ceiling, but glanced to Luhan again as he broke out into song quietly.

“I’m going to sleep, when I wake up, there will be thirty-nine, more days left…”

“What are you singing?”

“It’s a song,” Luhan explained. “When I fall asleep, I feel you with me. When I fall asleep, I feel you with me…”

“Is it in English?”

Luhan nodded. “When I fall asleep, I feel you with me. ‘Til I fall asleep and you are with me…”

Raindrops fell into his lap, and he stared at them, feeling them pour out of him, leaving him empty. Yixing asked what the song meant, and he translated for him, but didn’t explain further. What it meant to Luhan. Yes, Yixing could relate, that there was only forty days until they were all dead, if they made it that long. But that was only part of it. Yixing didn’t know – Yixing wasn’t waiting for someone in his dreams.

I’ll stay right here, up all night dear. I’ll stay right here, ‘til you’re right here.

“

Baekhyun expected that the day Chanyeol called, his friend would call back with news. When he didn’t, it bothered Baekhyun because didn’t this guy realize how important this was? It was only someone’s life, no big deal to a guard apparently. (Not that Chanyeol was like that. But the camp guards were different, according to Chanyeol.) Baekhyun wanted to know what was happening, so he could tell Minseok something, even if the older’s mood was up just having the Sehun guy scouting for Luhan. Rather than being too bothered, Baekhyun decided that it might take a day for the other to get back to them, and he would just wait until the next morning.

Meanwhile, that night Chanyeol was back in Minseok’s apartment, and it felt better to have him with them again. Although it was a tight fit, he curled into bed with the older two that night, cuddling up behind Baekhyun who was sandwiched between him and Minseok. Baekhyun couldn’t complain when Chanyeol twined his hand into his and kissed the back of his neck and hair lightly as he fell asleep.

The following morning, Chanyeol checked his phone but had no messages from Sehun. He told Baekhyun to be patient, that the camps were large and it might take him some time to locate one in several thousand people. However, after three days with no updates, and Minseok slowly returning to his miserable state, Baekhyun was ready to call Chanyeol’s friend and tell him to at least let them know he hadn’t found anything. Despite Chanyeol telling him that Sehun wasn’t much of one for conversing and staying in contact unnecessarily, Baekhyun felt annoyed at the stranger.

It was on the Sunday after Chanyeol had first contacted Sehun that at last he called back. Chanyeol was in Minseok’s living room, Baekhyun cooking in the kitchen and Minseok in his bedroom as usual, when the youngest’s phone began ringing, and Chanyeol quickly put it on speaker phone, calling Baekhyun out.

“Hey Sehun.”

“Hi Chanyeol,” the voice came out of the speaker. “I’ll just get right to the point – am I on speaker?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol laughed. “I’m here with my boyfriend, don’t worry, you’re safe. What’s up?” Baekhyun pressed up beside the younger, listening.

“Well,” Sehun said, sounding a bit uncomfortable now. “I found your friend. He’s alive, anyway, in the camp. He told me to say hi to his baozi, the boy in the picture you sent me.”

“He means Minseok,” Baekhyun put in. “Did he say anything else?”

“Uh, no, not really. I couldn’t exactly sit and chat with him.” Baekhyun just nodded, turning pink. “Anyway, I found him, he’s going to die in a few weeks or less. Are you satisfied with that?”

Baekhyun and Chanyeol exchanged a glance, and they both knew what it meant. What do we tell Minseok? Sehun couldn’t stay for long; he needed to go to bed and get up in the morning, so they let him go, and said they would talk to him again soon.

Neither one knew what to do next. Tell or not tell? Lie or tell the truth? Whatever they did, it wouldn’t end happy.

Baekhyun suddenly found himself wondering if this had ever been a good idea in the first place.

“

It was late in the morning when Kyungsoo woke up, head resting on something that was definitely not soft enough to be a pillow. His face felt cold, and he pulled his blanket up to his nose without opening his eyes. His fists were curled into cloth, a shirt he guessed, and he pressed against the material, expecting the soft give of Dareun’s body beneath his fingers. Unless the toy suddenly had a skeleton, it was not Dareun at all that Kyungsoo was holding on to.

Kyungsoo’s eyes flurried open, and he saw a flat expanse of dirty white in front of him – a shirt-clad chest, rising and falling rhythmically in slumber. He inhaled sharply, and his senses were overwhelmed with a scent he had become somewhat addicted to. With the scent came an abrupt recollection of the previous night (or, early morning), and Kyungsoo’s eyes widened. He looked out into the room, catching sight of the open window, curtains flapping gently in the incoming breeze that was chilling his bedroom. He was half expecting the police to barge in and arrest him, not only for assisting and sheltering a Category, but for helping him take heroin.

He glanced up, catching sight of a chin a few inches from his eyes, and then a parted mouth, closed eyes, dark hair. The dark hair threw him for a moment, because he’d been expecting blond. That was going to take him some getting used to, he supposed. Regardless of his hair colour, Jongin looked very peaceful as he slept, and Kyungsoo was relieved. He was here, and he was safe, and that was really all Kyungsoo could ask for.

On the other hand, the fact that his head was lying on the younger’s shoulder was a bit of a concern. Also, the hand he had twisted into Jongin’s shirt, resting on the boy’s stomach, and the other pressed into Jongin’s side, were problematic. Kyungsoo was awfully close and cozy to Jongin, and it was, in Kyungsoo’s mind, very dangerous. He let go of the younger, pushing himself away and sitting up, blankets slipping off him and exposing him to the cold. With a groan he got up and shut the window, before hurrying back to the warmth of his bed. Jongin slept on.

After a few minutes Kyungsoo went out again, covering Jongin with the blankets and grabbing himself a sweater to wear, moving into the kitchen. He switched off the lamp he’d left on all night before he went, and closed the door behind him so his noise wouldn’t disturb the other’s sleep. Within moments he had measured and begun cooking rice and was throwing together a kimchi tofu stew.

As he let it cook, he messaged Joonmyun to tell him Jongin could come back to work tomorrow, and to give away his shift today. Both he and Jongin needed a day off today, for Jongin to recover and Kyungsoo to make sure he was okay. It wasn’t Kyungsoo’s job to take care of the younger or anything, but Jongin likely would need some support to get back on his feet after whatever he’d gone through the past few days.

Kyungsoo was just checking to see if the stew was ready when his bedroom door swung open and Jongin came out, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. The boy made his way to the bathroom, but Kyungsoo called him instead, beckoning him over. Jongin frowned but went into the kitchen anyway, and Kyungsoo dished out a spoonful of the stew, holding it up.

“Tell me if this is too spicy,” Kyungsoo ordered, and Jongin allowed himself to be fed, sipping at the spoon and then considering it for a moment. While he did, Kyungsoo felt himself growing warm at the intimacy of what he’d just done, feeding the younger like they were a couple or something. What was wrong with him this morning? Sure, he could understand that he was happy Jongin was alive and back, but that didn’t call for babying him. What he’d done last night was enough, out of sympathy for the younger. Now Jongin was a lot better, Kyungsoo didn’t need to do things for him.

“It’s good,” Jongin told him casually, and Kyungsoo guessed Jongin didn’t find his actions strange. Maybe he was too tired. But then he added, “I like it hot,” and Kyungsoo swore he flushed a little himself after saying it, and Kyungsoo had to turn away to hide his own fervent blush.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

(For one thing, ual jokes and references and entendres usually went over his head, and when they didn’t Kyungsoo paid no attention to them anyway because he couldn’t care less. They certainly didn’t have the power to make him blush ridiculously. Kyungsoo didn’t like to think about , or talk about it or suggest it or anything of the like.)

Fortunately, Jongin left to go to the bathroom after that, and Kyungsoo was allowed to recompose and chastise himself for being so stupid, and then he served them their breakfast (or rather, brunch; it was after eleven now) and they ate quietly together. When he was done, Kyungsoo left for his room, telling Jongin if he wanted to smoke on the balcony for today he could. Kyungsoo was left alone for just a few minutes and then Jongin was knocking on the door, asking to get his backpack, which Kyungsoo quickly delivered him. After that, Kyungsoo stayed in his room and Jongin out in the rest of the apartment.

At some point, Jongin showered, and later in the evening Kyungsoo took a shower of his own. When his stomach suggested it was time for dinner, Kyungsoo left his room and began to make something again. While they ate, Kyungsoo told Jongin they both had to work the next day, Jongin from opening until two. They didn’t speak again until after Kyungsoo got out of the shower, heading for his room to go to bed for the night when he was confronted. Jongin asked if he could sleep in Kyungsoo’s bed again, and Kyungsoo sighed but nodded, heading for his linen closet to grab a blanket to set up the couch for himself.

“What are you doing?” Jongin asked.

“I have to sleep somewhere, don’t I?” Kyungsoo returned, and Jongin frowned.

“Sleep in your bed with me, like last night,” Jongin said, and it was casual but there was something underlying it. Embarrassment? No. Kyungsoo wasn’t sure.

“Is that how it’s gonna be now?” Kyungsoo asked under his breath, closing the closet door. He turned back to his bedroom, trying not to over-think what he was allowing to happen here. Jongin followed behind him, and Kyungsoo felt like yelling at him for some reason. He didn’t. Instead he just told him, “Close the door and hit the lights,” and then felt flustered at himself because once again, that sounded inappropriate and he was going to become a mute if he kept saying these kinds of things.

He slipped into bed, squinting as the light overhead remained on. He turned to look at Jongin and tell him to turn off the lights again, but instead saw the younger pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it casually into Kyungsoo’s laundry basket, leaving the boy in only his boxers. Kyungsoo’s heart plummeted.

It wasn’t unusual for Jongin to go around in only his boxers. In fact, it was something Kyungsoo had grown quite used to and stopped really noticing now. However, the fact that Jongin was about to get in bed with Kyungsoo and was stripping his clothes off made Kyungsoo anxious. Had Jongin noticed the slips both of them had made today? Was he reading into it and thinking Kyungsoo was, well, wanting him? No, no, I don’t want that, please don’t try anything on me…

Jongin saw his concerned look, and gave him an apologetic one in return. “Sorry,” he said as he finally switched the light off. “I thought I was gonna die sleeping in all my clothes last night. I really hate wearing clothes to bed.” The bed dipped, blankets pulling back and allowing Jongin in. He didn’t get too close to Kyungsoo, to the older’s relief. “Goodnight, hyung.”

Kyungsoo frowned, staring into the darkness where Jongin should be, eyes unadjusted. After a moment, he muttered, “Since when am I ‘hyung’ to you?” He didn’t expect an answer, nor did he receive one.

Rolling onto his side, he faced away from Jongin, closing his eyes and trying to pretend the other wasn’t there.

“

The next few days passed as they had before between Kyungsoo and Jongin, as if the younger had never been kidnapped and nearly killed or captured. Jongin’s cuts, bruises and other injuries had already begun their slow heal, and in the over a week since he’d received them, they’d dimmed immensely, though Kyungsoo still hated the sight of them. Jongin went back to work, he left the apartment to smoke and do whatever other drugs he did. He came back regularly for dinner now, and he slept in Kyungsoo’s bed with him, but otherwise things hadn’t really changed. Or, so Kyungsoo thought.

On Friday, a day where Jongin had worked until four, the boy came home seemingly right after work, getting in the door just twenty minutes after his shift had ended. Kyungsoo wondered if he’d been running from someone or if he was just really hungry. If it was the latter, he would have to wait, because Kyungsoo hadn’t even begun to make dinner yet.

But apparently, Jongin didn’t mind that he hadn’t made dinner. Nor had he been caught up in any trouble. He had just… gotten home early.

“I wanted to ask you something, actually,” Jongin told him quietly as Kyungsoo went to leave for his room. The older stopped, waiting for his question. “Did you, um, did you want to go on – go out for dinner?”

Kyungsoo’s brow furrowed at the suggestion. Go out? “Why would I go out when I can just make something at home?” he wondered.

Jongin swallowed, shrugging and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Just, a change of pace, y’know?”

The younger was acting strange, and Kyungsoo couldn’t understand it. “What, is my cooking not good enough for you?” Kyungsoo had always thought his food was fine, and Jongin had never complained before… Maybe he’d just had enough now, and was finally speaking up. Kyungsoo felt a little embarrassed.

“No, no!” Jongin said quickly, eyes widening. “It’s – no, your cooking is great.” He thought the boy was a bit pink when he said it. “I just thought it’d be nice if you didn’t have to do the work for once. And it would just… be different.”

Oh. So Jongin was worried about Kyungsoo overworking for him? It was a guilt thing, then?

“I don’t mind doing the work, Jongin.” He didn’t. He always had, and making a bit extra because of Jongin wasn’t a problem.

“I know, but-”

“Why are you being so insistent?” Kyungsoo frowned again. “Why do you want to go out so bad?” Maybe Jongin had had an encounter with those guys again. But why would he want to take Kyungsoo out of the safe apartment? Or had he accidentally led them here, and he didn’t want the guys to find them here? Jongin sighed, looking defeated, and Kyungsoo’s stomach tightened, nervous about what he would say next.

“Kyungsoo, I’m asking you to go out for dinner with me.”

“I get that, but why is it such a big deal?” What aren’t you saying? The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Kyungsoo…”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo imitated mockingly.

Jongin looked up at him, and his eyes were very serious. “I’m asking you on a date, hyung.”

…

…

“You… what?”

“Do you want to go out for dinner with me?” Jongin asked.

Kyungsoo’s mind had gone blank. “As – a date?”

“Yes.”

This was not what he had expected. He didn’t even know what to think. What to do. Was it a joke? No, Jongin was visibly growing embarrassed, but his eyes remained serious, awaiting an answer. Kyungsoo didn’t know what the answer was supposed to be.

This wasn’t ever supposed to have happened. When had this… How? Did – did it mean Jongin had feelings for him? Maybe it was just a friend date, another gift Jongin was giving to pay back for the things Kyungsoo did for him. But… the look in his eyes… had it always been there? It was too soft, too caring. Ever since Jongin had come back…

Kyungsoo started realizing things that had happened, things he hadn’t paid attention to, but that were obvious signs. Jongin had been too nice, lately. He wasn’t snarky and sarcastic anymore. He had made them breakfast yesterday morning. He curled up to Kyungsoo when they slept – together, as had been Jongin’s suggestion – holding onto him like he was protecting him. He had fixed Kyungsoo’s hair this morning, when he noticed it was out of place. And maybe he’d taken Kyungsoo’s lack of reaction to these things as mutual affection. Maybe Kyungsoo should’ve been more stern with him, like he’d been before. He still didn’t know why he’d lightened up so much, but apparently it had been terribly misinterpreted.

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kyungsoo said quietly at last.

Jongin’s face fell, and he seemed to deflate. “Oh. Okay.” His words were soft, but tainted with devastation, though he seemed to be trying to hold it in. He bit the corners of his mouth to stop his lip from wobbling.

Kyungsoo couldn’t understand why he was so bothered by it, how he could have expected anything else. “We’re both guys,” Kyungsoo told him. “And – and you’re… you, and I’m… we’re just really different. I just – I don’t think it would be good…”

“Okay,” Jongin repeated, nodding, face masked from expression. “I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jongin…” Kyungsoo hated how empty the other’s words sounded, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“No, I get it. I’m a lower-class, drug-addict Category, and you’re practically royalty. You don’t associate with my type. I’m lucky to be under your roof, and I shouldn’t push it. Forget I asked.”

Before Kyungsoo could say anything more, Jongin looked away from him, walking over to the couch and plunking down on it. He flicked on the TV, turning up the volume loudly. After a moment, Kyungsoo went into the kitchen, deciding to make dinner, but he realized he had lost his appetite. Still, he threw together a bowl of bibimbap for the younger, leaving it on the table with a loud clunk before retreating to his bedroom.

He felt sick. He felt so sick. What had just happened? What did it mean? Part of Kyungsoo wanted to bury his head in his pillow and cry, and he didn’t even know why. He laid on his bed and curled up, his mind deciding to bombard him with memories he’d suppressed so much lately. And he might have cried a bit, because his life had been horrible and what was happening now was horrible and he felt confused and scared and sick. 

The next time he left his room was around ten o’clock, because he really had to go to the bathroom. The sounds of the TV had stopped twenty minutes ago, and Kyungsoo wasn’t sure if Jongin had left or what, but his bladder didn’t care anymore. When he came out of the washroom, he looked around the apartment briefly. The bowl he’d left out was no longer on the table, but he spotted it instead in the drying rack in the kitchen. Meanwhile, he could see Jongin lying on the couch, motionless. Kyungsoo approached him and said his name quietly, but the younger was asleep. On the couch. Wearing all his clothes.

Kyungsoo shouldn’t care. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But the guilt bubbled up in him anyway, sprouting through his being like vines. For the past several hours he’d been trying to figure out – everything, and it seemed like Jongin, meanwhile, had just been crying. Kyungsoo went to his linen closet, drawing out the blanket – Jongin’s blanket – and returning to the couch, throwing it over the boy there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then took his leave.

“

Luhan watched the mysterious guard that Yixing pointed out when the man walked by. If he could be considered a man; he looked awfully young. According to Yixing, while Luhan had been sleeping earlier the man had been doing his rounds, singing to himself, and Yixing was sure he’d heard Luhan’s name in his words. The man wasn’t speaking Chinese, so he wasn’t totally certain if it was right or not, but that was what Yixing thought he’d heard, anyway.

Luhan was able to get a good look at his face as he went by, and he seemed like he might be Korean. There was only one way to find out.

“야, 장교!루한 알아요?”

Yixing’s eyes widened and several people turned to look at him as he yelled at the officer. “What did you say?” Yixing asked him, looking concerned as the officer’s head spun around in recognition.

“I just asked if he knew me,” Luhan said quietly, the man’s eyes drawn to him as everyone else was looking at him. Suddenly his mind was filled with regret. Why had he thought that would be a good idea? Why would the officer know him, anyway? Luhan had never seen the man in his life.

The officer walked back over to him, staring at him without expression, and then he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. His eyes widened a millimeter.

“You’re Luhan,” the man said in Korean. Luhan nodded, and the officer handed the paper to him. “I’m Sehun. Your friends asked me to find you.”

Luhan was speechless as he stared down at the paper – a printed out photo of himself, and Minseok beside him, the boy’s arm slung around his shoulder. The picture had been taken maybe a year ago, but Luhan remembered when it had been taken, and where he’d been. But what did this Sehun have the photo for, and what did he mean his friends had asked him to find Luhan?

“So I’ll tell them you’re alive, then,” Sehun said, and Luhan’s eyes shot up to him. The man didn’t seem very interested in staying, but Luhan didn’t care about that right now. Sehun was in contact with Minseok? Luhan asked him quickly, and Sehun just shrugged. “I’m in contact with Chanyeol, who’s friends with him.”

Right, of course that made sense. Chanyeol was a guard, Sehun was a guard. Sehun was Korean, he’d probably trained in Korea, likely with Chanyeol. Luhan was nodding again, eyes returning to the picture in his hands. Sehun was making no attempt to take it back, so Luhan thought maybe he could keep it. The guard didn’t seem to care. He was backing out, returning to the pathway.

“Will you tell my baozi I said hello?” Luhan called after him. Sehun paused again, glancing back at him.

“Baozi?” he repeated the Chinese word uncertainly. Luhan nodded. “Right, whatever.” Sehun left before Luhan could give any more messages to relay. When he was gone, he was faced with Yixing, whose eyes were swimming with questions.

“What was that?” he wondered. Luhan held up the picture for him to see, pointing at Minseok.

“This is my baozi,” he explained in Chinese. “My friend I told you about.”

Yixing peered at it, and then gave his single-dimpled smile that Luhan had rarely seen but greatly adored. “You weren’t exaggerating about how cute he is.” Luhan grinned. “But why did the guard have that picture?”

Luhan hadn’t actually been answered that much, but he could put the pieces together. It was a reference, so the guy would know him when he saw him. “He was looking for me. Our friend Chanyeol is a guard, too, and I guess he knows Sehun, or knows someone who knows Sehun, I dunno. But I guess they got Sehun to look for me.”

“What for? Are they planning something?”

Woah. Luhan hadn’t gotten that far yet. It hadn’t occurred to him that there might be a reason Minseok was looking for him, but why else would he be, other than to try and get him out of the prison? But… It was impossible to get out. He’d be killed if he tried – Minseok would be killed if he tried.

“I – I don’t know.” It wasn’t good to jump to conclusions. Maybe his best friend just wanted to say goodbye. Luhan bit his lip, tears forming in his eyes at that thought. He didn’t even know if he wanted Minseok to risk himself to save him.

He stared down at the photograph in his hands. He didn’t know how he felt about this, if he wanted any of it or not. But he wanted his baozi. If nothing else, he wanted Minseok.

“

Baekhyun and Chanyeol spent an hour discussing what to say to Minseok. It was hard, knowing there was still five weeks left until the end, and that telling Minseok that Luhan was still alive meant him knowing in that time that Luhan was alive and suffering. On the other hand, not telling him might make him wonder if Luhan was out there somewhere, having escaped and living in hiding. Chanyeol argued that he deserved to know the truth, that they had gone through all this trouble to let him know either way so they might as well just tell him. Even though Baekhyun knew this was true, he still wanted to protect Minseok. In the end, Chanyeol won out, and Baekhyun went into Minseok’s room to relay Sehun’s message.

As usual, Minseok was in bed sleeping. He didn’t stir when Baekhyun came in, nor when he began rubbing the boy’s arm lightly, but eventually Baekhyun was able to coax him out of sleep. Unsure of how to break the news, he just explained that Sehun had called and told Minseok what he’d said. The amount of excitement in the older’s face upon hearing the news was painful. He threw his arms around Baekhyun and hugged him for a very long time, too elated for words.

Minseok finally spoke, still holding Baekhyun. “Can he save him, then?”

Baekhyun stiffened. This was what he had worried about. The older was too hopeful and, as Chanyeol constantly grumbled about, believed that Luhan would come back.

Sensing Baekhyun’s reaction, Minseok spoke again. “Please, just see if he will try,” he whispered. “Please, Baekhyun.” And Baekhyun had to wonder if the boy knew the affect his pitiful begging had on him, because at his words the younger felt weak and unable to deny him that he would at least try.

“Okay,” Baekhyun answered softly, and Minseok squeezed him once before letting him go. His eyes shone with gratefulness, and Baekhyun bit his lip, patting the older’s hand lightly before getting up.

The moment he was out of the room, he was filled with regret. Maybe he was easily swayed by Minseok’s persuasive sadness, but Chanyeol saw right through heartbroken voices and puppy-dog eyes. It would be a lot harder to convince Chanyeol.

Rather than going and fighting with his boyfriend, he approached him quickly and wordlessly as the younger sat watching TV on the couch. Baekhyun sunk onto his lap, straddling his hips carefully and meeting Chanyeol’s questioning eyes. He ran his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair, pulling him up to kiss him for a long moment and then moving his lips to the younger’s neck, planting many kisses there. Chanyeol leaned his head back for Baekhyun to access his neck better, closing his eyes and giving a sigh.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked quietly. Baekhyun just shook his head.

“I just want to kiss you for a while,” he murmured. “Is that too much to ask? I just want my life to be normal for a little while…”

Chanyeol didn’t argue further, letting Baekhyun’s lips move against his skin, traveling down his collar bone until he stripped the younger’s shirt off and continued. He mapped out kisses along Chanyeol’s body for a long time, and then eventually came back to his mouth, kissing him long and hard. Chanyeol pulled them back to lie down on the length of the couch, just kissing slowly for an endless amount of time. When Baekhyun finally pulled away, he rested his head beside the younger’s, closing his eyes and just letting himself be close to him. Chanyeol’s fingers his spine softly, and he pressed a kiss to Baekhyun’s forehead.

“I love you, Byun Baekhyun,” he mumbled. Baekhyun hummed.

He stayed quiet for a while, finally asking very softly, “’Yeol, would you break the law for me?”

“

Sehun wasn’t sure why he was doing another nice thing for a guy he hardly knew. When Chanyeol had called him again with another “favour”, Sehun should have just declined, because what he was asking was totally illegal and Sehun wasn’t even getting anything out of it. This really wasn’t a good deal for him. Yet here he was, being a nice guy again.

Lame.

When he arrived at the prison for his next shift, he didn’t even know what to do. Chanyeol had asked to see if there was any way for a prisoner to get out. Annoyingly, Sehun found himself drawn to the area of the prison that that guy, Luhan, was in. He wandered around, having forgotten exactly where the guy was, but then he caught sight of wide eyes watching him as he was passing one area, and he internally bookmarked the section’s location in his mind. Because he might need to give the Luhan guy a message or something, so he would need to know.

Continuing on, he turned over the possibilities in his head. Anything that might be considered to escape this place; but every idea he came up with had a counter, something that would result in failure. His eyes scanned around, checking the door, the patterns of the other wandering guards, the routines of the prisoners. No one ever entered the paths around the sects containing the prisoners, other than the guards. In the past, prisoners that had gone on the paths were shot. If they so much as left their squares, they were killed. So, how could one escape, let alone reach the door?

The answer was, obviously, that they couldn’t. Why was Sehun even bothering?

He continued to bother, though. He bothered for three days, until his mind was literally exhausted from bothering anymore. And then he called Chanyeol, with only a month left until the prisoners would be killed. Tomorrow was November first. Sehun had nothing to offer them, so if they cared so much, they would have to find a way on their own.

“Sehun?” Chanyeol answered the phone.

“Chanyeol, there’s nothing. There’s no way out.”

A/n: I might not have updated in three and a half weeks. I'm sorry. I'm busy with everything and basically I got a comment a couple days ago telling me to update and I just stopped everything else and started writing this chapter. (So your comments are effective, don't doubt it.)

Anyway, I should say a couple things. I dunno if I mentioned the significance of December 1st, but that's the day it all ends and the rocket launches. It started August 1st, lasts 4 months. Make sense? Also, the song Luhan was singing can be found here. It's a very good song. I listened to it while writing this chapter, and had it on repeat 60 times (which adds up to about 5 hours of listening). I hope you weren't unsatisfied (aha) with this chapter, and I hope you'll read some of my other stuff if you haven't yet (including my Baekyeol dystopian two-shot, if you're into this genre, you might like it too). 

I appreciate comments, always! <3