"Me or the defective. Take your pick."

Suho groaned loudly into his pillow, Xiumin's sinister words from earlier ringing about his head. It was infuriating how quickly he'd given in— his reaction was immediate, flight or fight instinct kicking in, and he'd completely forgotten about Baekhyun's little situation as a third-wheel with his irritating new friends.

Consequently, he'd been roped into rooming with the one person he'd vowed never to be civil to (although, thinking about it, Suho wasn't really civil to anybody. But he was, as a general rule, especially unpleasant to Xiumin).

Said Shifter was in the shower; he'd all but run to the bathroom after an awkward and silent ascension to their second-floor room in the small, port-side hotel, all prior bravado apparently lost. Suho had collapsed face-down on the bed furthest from the door, listening as Xiumin sighed and shuffled about his bag for a bit, before retreating. Now, he was wholly regretting his hasty decision, moping in a figurative puddle of self-pity.

The shower turned off, and Suho braced himself, fists forming either side of his head. The door clicked open, and Xiumin padded out, stopping short at the sight of Suho, splayed on the bed exactly the way he'd been left. "Are... Are you crying?"

Suho sat up faster than ever before, glaring fiercely as he pushed his hair off his forehead. "No," he spat in fervid denial. "Just trying to smother myself," he added, voice almost inaudible; Xiumin's lip twitched unbeknownst to him though, because if he could hear heartbeats, then he sure as hell could catch muttering.

"So," Xiumin began lightly, towelling off his wet hair as he stood in the short foyer area, "We need to talk."

Suho scoffed as he stood stiffly, arms crossed across his front. "We absolutely do not," he growled, before striding to move past the other, to the bathroom.

Xiumin's hand curled around one of those tense arms though, pulling him back with a nearly disinterested expression. Suho stumbled backwards, stopping himself with feet planted wide and chin high, shooting Xiumin a glare that could freeze over hell. His nails bit into the skin of his palms, but he decided against rushing at the boy, because while he was angry, he wasn't stupid. Xiumin was a good fighter, and was strong. Suho wasn't physically inept, not at all, but his strong suit had always been intellect. He knew how to pick his battles.

Xiumin, for his part, had retained an air of unaffectedness. He began with a deep breath, "I've been thinking-"

"Oh, well imagine that," Suho cut him off, voice scathing.

"Shut up, will you?" Suho smirked tauntingly— the strain in Xiumin's voice betrayed a crack in composure that was almost too easy to make. "Look, I don't even understand why you hate me so much-"

"How convenient. You don't remember up and abandoning me?" He snorted, "Not to mention the fact that you're now Kim Jongin's own personal lapdog. That is Kim Jongin— literal filth, the guy that you and me-" he gestured almost manically between himself and Xiumin, "-wanted to overthrow for years-"

Xiumin shrugged. "Realistically, you and I both know that that was never going to happen. We were kids, Suho."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't change the fact that you and that useless Shifter are both scum." Suho raised his chin defiantly, injecting his tone with as much venom as was possible— he wanted Xiumin to know his bitterness, wanted him to feel his contempt.

Xiumin wasn't riled up, though, but rather he was calm, almost resigned. "You still haven't given me an actual reason," he stated, leaning against the wall and effectively blocking Suho's way to the bathroom, or any escape route for that matter. Unless he fancied hurling himself out the window. "Are you treating me like this because you're hurt?" he continued rather conversationally, "Is that it? I don't quite understand what you have to be hurt about— it doesn't make sense, I mean if anything I'm the most entitled to upset out of the two of us."

Suho snorted, "Yeah, you would-"

"Stop with the the sarcasm, dammit!" Xiumin exhaled tersely, "I don't even have to be talking to you right now, you realise? I could've just let you keep moping around on the outskirts without anybody to talk to— you know that, Zitao and Kris are too busy to spare you time of day, that Baekhyun kid is all but engaged to the two Defectives, and you can't get past your own blind stupidity enough to look past status and make new friends."

"Oh, that's rich," Suho snarled, "Coming from you. You're hardly one to talk. Hypocrite." He sunk into his bed with a small huff, resigning himself to the confrontation. It was inevitable, he supposed. Bound to happen at some point. "I've seen the way you act around the two Defective bumpkins... Like you're ready to crawl out of your skin just to get away."

Xiumin shot him a hard look. "That's two out of twelve, Suho. Slightly better than your full dozen, no?" His gaze softened a little as he studied Suho, the Walker's posture appearing tired and worn out from where he stood. "You look lonely— that's why I'm bothering. After that night when we were attacked, everybody's kind of been walking on eggshells around me-" he cleared his throat, watching closely as Suho shifted uncomfortably, the memory of that night obviously not the most pleasant one. "I can kind of relate," he said finally, voice lowering a little. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Xiumin's gaze also dropped to his hands, the creases between his index and middle fingers suddenly captivating. He was never one for talking about feelings— neither was Suho for that matter. No matter how the conversation turned out, Xiumin knew it was going to be looked back on with chagrin.

"You're too nice for your own good," Suho scoffed— always have been, his more-sentimental-than-necessary mind tacked on mentally, but he neglected verbalising it for obvious reasons. "That doesn't change the fact that you left us. Everyone."

"I didn't want to, and we both know that. The circumstances were absolute - Hell, if I could go back and change it, if I could fix myself-" Xiumin's fingers curled into a fist abruptly, and he focused instead on his knuckled as he took a deep breath. "I'm not going to apologise to you for it, though. Quite literally, I couldn't help it, and if I didn't move when I did I would've been eaten alive by everybody, at school, in the neighbourhood, at work..." 

Suho pursed his lips, images of runty, teenage Xiumin being tracked down springing to mind— he was always smaller (that being said, Suho wasn't huge either, but Xiumin was short), but back then he'd been skinny too, and meek. As angry as he was, denying that Xiumin would've been seriously damaged was impossible. People lashed out when they didn't understand something, and that combined with the anger that would've been harboured regarding the boy that Xiumin had ripped into when he'd shifted for the first time (it was pure luck that he'd won that fight then, as far as Suho could tell, pure luck and shock rendering the other boy frozen)...

With logic, it was easy to see that Xiumin's move was for the best, and if he was truly honest with himself, it wasn't that which angered Suho the most. 

"Kim Jongin." Suho raised a single eyebrow of challenge, "What's your excuse there? Why are you his... I don't know, underling? Minion? Whatever it is, it's sickening," he spat, and finally, finally, Xiumin flinched, head snapping up. 

"I don't get it either," he muttered hurriedly, panic leaking into the way his eyes were wide, rapidly blinking, as though attempting to aid him in sifting through his thoughts, help him in his search for some plausible answer. "I'm always looking out for him, somehow, and it's not intentional, and I don't understand why— either Zitao's in my head, or it's just that stupid fate stuff putting me in th