“hey hey, it’s alright.” He says, cradling the young girl’s head in his arms. “i’m still here.”
she clings on to the comfort He’s offering, desperation thinly veiled because there’s only that much comfort He can offer and she’s frightened. the girl snuggles into the crook of His arms and buries her head, disallowing her tears to flow out. tears have always been signs of weaknesses.

“it’s okay to cry,” He says, fingers running through the raven black strands of her hair in comforting . “we’ll have our revenge.”

as He mumbles in a silent promise, He presses His lips to the girl's forehead – singed slightly from the fire.

she pulls back and looks at him. tears collected in the corner of her red-rimmed eyes are glistening under the pale moonlight. the girl sticks out her pinky and with a trembling voice she asks, “y-you’ll never leave me right? promise?”

“promise.” He replies to her gently, hooking his pinky around the smaller girl’s.

they leave, pinky hooked and tears freely flowing down the girl’s small face. she turns her head and takes one last glimpse of the scene she’s been subjected to. fire ignites in her stygnian dark eyes. the sight of conflagration razing everything – her happiness, childhood, village – down and leaving wisps of smoke in it’s wake. flames had engulfed her family in a harsh, unyielding manner. "it’s all their fault that the village is in this state of destruction," He says, tone low and resentful. "they were the callous ones who started this."

the fiery scene engraves itself into the depths of her mind in high heat and continues burning in her memory.

•

"we could run." chanyeol states, eyes bright as he slots his fingers right in between yixing's. it fits the way a coin does when you push it in through a coin slot and hear it drop with a small clink into a vending machine. in yixing's case, it’s a fit of warm fingers and bright eyes, not for a can of soft drink, but an agreement to leave.

chanyeol already has a map drawn in his mind, the map of His palms which He uses to protect, or trap, the two of them in. it is complete with notations of 'this way home, 'this way out,' and how 'this way leads to a roundabout.' chanyeol has seen the way the creases running across His palms fold when He convinces the people 'don't go' with hypnotically vulnerable voice. He is already prepared to close out all the exits if there is anywhere they would ever go though, (or at least chanyeol thinks,) so chanyeol can’t quite see the point of convincing.

however, it does seem like he is the only one who actually notices.

there is a chance of leaving this place, leaving Him – their paramount. chanyeol could get past the danger of getting crushed in His palms with two tonnes of gleaming gunpowder and half of that in luck, perhaps, but with yixing tugged along, the picture doesn’t seem quite right.

"listen -" chanyeol continues, squeezing yixing's hand, "we'll make it.”

•

the both of them are treading on thin lines, one step after another. they leave their footsteps in a form of united states size eleven mud prints leading seven point five ones when chanyeol feels resistance - yixing slowing and becoming reluctant. one look into her dilated orbs and he hears yixing screaming, pleading, "let's stop here we've made it far enough.” chanyeol keeps his silence along the way of their return, back to square one.

there is a crowd gathered around Him, as usual. He's playing melodies of the crowd – all who have lost their homes and families – with perfectly sculpted fingers. songs from before all their districts got disintegrated into ashes of destruction fills the air. whenever each finger presses upon the ivory keys, another piece of their soul is given to Him unconsciously. the songs sing their memories, fog their minds with delusions and keeps them within the knobs of His fingers, gently, within His grasp.

yixing's head bobs gently along to the music, feet unmoving, completely entranced, and a wave of something hits chanyeol. he twists and fidgets in knowing that at this rate, they can't go.

late in the night, his fingers pluck the strings, hoping to make out something which sounds close to love - "are you making a love song?" yixing asks, head peeking out from under the blankets and squinting in the dim lighting. she's always liked love songs.

the light falls softly on the contours of chanyeol's arms and briefly flickers over the blend of brown on the cherry wood of the guitar's body. chanyeol looks back at yixing, face scrunching into a smile, "it's a work in progress."

not love, this isn't a love song. chanyeol doesn't think either of them want the kind of song to bring them to rainbow filled skies and pastel coloured flowers when he tries to tell yixing how much he likes the way she smiles. their love is expressed in the form of shared glances, silent words.

chanyeol gets the impression that the songs and their memories are what He uses to cultivate reliance. this isn't the way music is supposed to work, chanyeol knows as he falls deeper into the trance of euphony every time. He can't simply manipulate everyone and make them lose their direction through reminiscence. they have to leave.

yixing continues being reluctant but chanyeol doesn’t stop trying to slot love and urgency in binary codes under their skin, so that they can finally shake off the inertia; finally throw their hands up and go with "i love you’s". he doesn't say anything, when yixing yawns a sweet "good night, don't turn in too late," but instead continues plucking strings on the guitar until his fingers are red and raw with from the burn of friction.

•

"character malfunction has occurred," the voice of a female, soft and mellifluous, reports. He can hear the soft scratches of her long, painted nails against the plastic clipboard, her tone clipped and a tinge of barely-there urgency. He breathes in the shadows and lets a breath out, an indication loud enough for the girl to continue. "our proposed course of action would be-" the scratchy sound of flipping pages is heard, softly from across the line, "- disposal."

there is a finality in the secretary’s tone, almost as if this is the only way to deal with rebels - well technically, it is, He won’t deny - His fist clenches and unclenches from the exceeding amount of coarse noises and he in a breath - "oh" - before there's a swipe of fingers and all that's left is the long beep from hanging up the call accompanying silence. it's a pity, He thinks, chanyeol was one of the efficient ones, he could have been the best. not to mention the fact that he is the one who almost succeeded convincing yixing out of her promise, the boy deserves a chance.

another round of brainwashing would be perfect. He picks up a earpiece and commands action, "send him back to collect the memories of his past, or a memory trail."

•

yixing appears with a slip of white envelope in his hands. "there are new tasks,” she says, beaming. "i can return to changsha."

her dimples on the sides of her smile almost seems as if they could hold water, her eyes are in innocent crescents and her lips are shaped in a full, upturned bow - if anyone had seen her. she'd be a picture, an epitome of happiness. chanyeol takes a glance at the pristine white envelope held in yixing's hands, he doesn't know why but there's this surge of unease bubbling from within his gut. it's unnerving - this feeling of insecurity, and chanyeol really doesn't want yixing to carry out her task.

"that's great!" chanyeol exclaims instead. returning as much enthusiasm as he could possibly afford and forcing down the unsettling feeling. it feels like there are dead butterflies fluttering - free falling - down to the pits of his stomach, but it's okay, it will be okay. chanyeol's just letting a moment of paranoia fluster his thoughts and bungle his feelings. it will be okay.

"do you want to come along?"

his mind is screaming for him to refuse and remember that he needs to bring yixing to escape, but he tells himself that this would be the last, the last time, because yixing hasn't been back to her hometown in ages and he wants yixing to remain happy. "okay," he says, but the need to slot urgency under the her skin somehow rises higher than ever - that's what chanyeol's always been doing anyway. he doesn't realise how he's disrupting the whole occasion with his urgency to escape until he blurts, "this will be the last time," and notices the way yixing's smile falters at the edges. it's strange how she keeps smiling, anyways.

yixing nods in agreement, before leaving the piece of envelope on the coffee table, right next to the coffee-stained mug, and chanyeol suddenly doesn't have the appetite to finish the coffee anymore - it's not due to the fact that coffee's gone cold, definitely. he stands up and walks towards the sound of sliding drawers, "i'll help."

•

it is only when there is not a soul in sight gathered in the square except for Him that chanyeol gets the gist of whatever's going on. through the fingers landing on each ivory key, each as gracefully as he has ever remembered, he hears cries - screams of agony so familiar that they swirl at the back of his mind.

his eardrums are on the verge of exploding and water is obvious in his eyes when he crumbles and disintegrates into nothing more than a jerking body and salty tears. "yura” he sobs, willing the music – noise to shut up and stop with eyes squeezed shut and palms clapped over ears. when it finally does stop, he glares back up at Him through the tears blurring, memories crash back in waves.

it's Him, He is the one behind those piercing cries and everyone's affliction. chanyeol should have remembered the way he was torn apart from his loved ones, witnessed the blood staining the ground with floods of red after their bodies collapsed and laid, lifeless. He smiles, revealing teeth as pristine white as the envelope for tasks he gives out, and finally speaks, "you remembered."

the way He puts it across so casually, as if He is not talking to a boy whose family's been murdered by none other than Himself, makes the situation all the more revolting.

“you remembered.” chanyeol scoffs, mocking at his statement. the very hands which took him in with warm caresses and touched the precious ivory keys of the piano were the ones which had his whole family, whole district killed in cold blood. those eyes which had him comforted and brought him light he lost were the very same which had ordered the blight of his... everything.

chanyeol realizes this; it is His voice that had him - everyone - forgetting the fact that He was the one whose hands were stained with blood not belonging to Himself when the chanyeol felt the gradual loss of the warmth in his sister’s palm.

he was young, with his hands within the secure hold of his sister – yura – when everything ends. the way the sharp bang of a pistol was heard before she collapsed gasping at the searing pain, the way rivulets of tearbloodperspiration rolled off her porcelain cheeks as she winced, the way her fingertips chilled when the warmth of blood seeped into the gravelled ground and her eyelids dropped limp… they all crash in loud chaotic waves.

"but do you remember a girl, with dimpled smile and bleeding lips," He begins, further enhancing the clarity of those memories as if defining lines of a painting with sharp pencil tips and inked brushes. “what makes you so sure that i am the only one behind all of those?"

it’s not even a statement, chanyeol realizes. the words roll off His tongue so easily that chanyeol swears he's seeing a figment of truth hidden between those lines. he refuses to believe yixing was ever involved in this.

•

"xing," chanyeol calls out that night, right before the squeaking of luggage wheels against smooth tiles and soft clicks of shutting doors. "have you ever – honestly wanted to leave?"

yixing pauses in her tracks and turns her head towards chanyeol, a hint of amusement lining her eyes and says "sure," as if the question has not been silently conveyed through a thousand different glances and another thousand clasping hands.

chanyeol knows that yixing still doesn't see it, the way He is manipulating them like marionettes with – His voice. one that seeps into the backs of their minds and takes hold of their control like light fingers with an unbreakable grip. yixing’s got a grin of conspiracy and chanyeol's just left there hanging, as if waiting for something to happen.

•

somewhere along the lines, yixing guesses that chanyeol probably connected the points between Him and herself. the fact that she had been moved by the blithe twinkles in chanyeol's eyes however, is undeniable.

“sorry.” she mutters, an air of indifference hanging light – the kind that would be brushed off as simple non-committal.

His brows seem to knit slightly as disapproval tints his features. “you’ll play with him in this game.”

at that, her ears perk, but she masks her surprise with her hands shoved into her pockets, humming in nonchalance. “why the sudden decision?”

He doesn’t respond, perhaps no longer finding himself obliged to do so, now that she is completely wrapped around His pinky – wait, no. yixing isn’t wrapped around His pinky, she thinks. if she were to draw out the lines connecting her to Him, it would turn out as an intertwine of latticeworks. He is in no place to deny her of an answer.

“why the sudden decision?” she repeats, demand curling in her tongue.

there is a small pause before He begins, “you’ve spent quite some time with him haven’t you? you’re changing, becoming milder. i’m not sure if i quite remember you from the years before you’ve met the boy – chanyeol.”

“so you’re putting me to a test.” she deadpans, “after all these years.” there’s a hint of hurt, disappointment in those words that gnaws at the back of His mind.

His frown deepens, “no. i would rather you treat it as a conditioning. the way you put it, you are asking for an argument.” He begins calmly, taking yixing’s hands. “it’s not worth it, for us to be arguing over that boy.”

“besides, he can very well take this chance to prove his worth. you do remember the reason for his family’s elimination, don’t you?” His voice takes on one of hypnotic tones and yixing thinks well of course she can remember the smoke clogged air and suffocating sight, but how is that even a question? He knows how the scene burns ceaselessly in her memory, it's always been her nightmare.

yixing soon recognises and realises the hypnotic in His tone. she snatches her hand out of his grasp –“it’s not going to work on me, you know that. stop treating me like i’m an – outsider because i’ll show you. i’ll show you how a burnt child loves the fire.”

there is spite, thick and unfurling in her retort which causes Him to sigh softly, resignation colouring his tones. “i’m sorry, alright. i just wanted to fulfill our promise. i don’t want you to be the girl i found back then, helpless and clinging onto comfort desperately. you needed none of that.”

with the apology, He exits the room, leaving yixing together with her thoughts in a loud clutter.

•

see, chanyeol's seen san francisco and fast cars, beating horizons and knotted highways. in the midst of gathering pieces of scrapped memories and keeping an eye out for the pouch, he notices how the cable car tracks slice the roads into different halves on the rough gravel of the ground and thinks of how maybe one of the tracks is set out for them. because, what if there is something actually in the memory trails He set out for chanyeol and and his ex-girlfriend on a mission to slay him at the first sight of failure.

maybe yixing's going to appear in another minute, a blade in her hands and a softened apology when it's finally stained with chanyeol's blood.

maybe chanyeol will put up a fight with his left hand, not dominating because "it's not her fault,” he’ll tell himself.

but the situation always turns out better than he imagines it to be - when the gentle dulcet tones of her voice greets, "hey yeol," it feels like lambent tongues of flame caressing on his skin, chanyeol's pensiveness breaks and he looks back at the angelic girl. it would have bewitched any other male, but chanyeol, on the other hand, has become immune to it after her betrayal - of sorts. (she was involved in the destruction of his district after all those times, after all – never even allowing chanyeol a vague awareness of it.) even though there is this vague insistence claiming he's the one who defected, he was the one who noticed and realized too much.

at such close range, chanyeol was is confronted by yixing's brunette locks of hair that frame her perfectly sculpted features and fall over her ethereal eyes which glisten in the sunlight. he never really forgot how breathtaking she is. her face tilts to the side to give chanyeol a lopsided grin when she swings a brown leather pouch in front of his face.

"is pickpocketing your newest hobby?" chanyeol says, bitterness concealed in his voice when her true identity gnaws at the back of his head – assassin, murderer.

"i picked it up at the hotel. some imbecile left it behind." see, this isn't yixing.

"i hope you still have the locket i gave you on out first anniversary," she says, peering into the pouch. "you were always the sentimental one, after all." her words of mockery are not lost on him and it burns, the buried feelings of betrayal are reigniting, summoning hateful memories of the night he grew wary of people around – blurred faces and blinding smiles.

since the day it was revealed that everyone is just another successful experiment in a murder game, chanyeol never really wanted anything other than freedom, and vengeance for his family. the pouch however, is the key and losing it means losing His game - a risk chanyeol can't afford to take.

"xing,” he calls tenderly, eyes telling the other what he's asking from her. her own eyes gleam with obstinacy.

"fight for it, you know how much He will love adding your bag of puzzles to His collection."

•

chanyeol imagines this. they go, they are released breaths that is how they taught themselves to fake glory; eyes bright, hands steady, with steel-toed bravado, and –

this is how he imagines they (or perhaps only himself) end and begin. noir-like, giggling, gasping.

•

the confrontation is swift yet lethal - unexpected of the yixing chanyeol thought he’d known. they dismount at the same moment, perceptive of each other's actions like the backs of their palms. in a rapid movement, chanyeol lands on the group with a thud. he sputters for breath against the sand that swirls around him, blindly thrashing about and struggling to get a clear vision because yixing was never this - ruthless.

pain sears into his wrists when her firm hand clutches both of his wrists and drags him across the ground. a blow to his gut pushes the air out of his lungs and he feels the heel of yixing's boot dig into his skin. yixing was never this - vicious.

"pathetic," she mumbles, shrugging with the grin never leaving her face. she dangles the pouch a few inches above chanyeol's face and lifts her heel. chanyeol cringes in pain but somehow could not find it in him to resent her for what she did, grabbing the pouch back and tucking it into his coat.

"you were the one who couldn't bear to kill me back in hamburg." chanyeol retorts feebly at her retreating form, defeated. he returns his attention back to the pouch and rummaged through its contents carefully.

fragments of charred photos, lockets, folded letters…

everything is there, thank god. he won't want to go through the trouble of making a u-turn in the memory trail just to collect the missing piece of his past. chanyeol slumps down in relief and winces in pain at the sudden pressure on his wound.

the pouch slips out of his hands, onto the ground. a single folded piece of paper catches his eyes in the pile of items spilling out. it had yet to be become yellowed from antiquity, it's edges still pointed, making it stand out like a blossoming flower in a withering garden. cautiously, chanyeol picks it up and unfolds it.

the piercing words were a contrast against her elegant script:

come home. He still loves you.xing.



-fin-





a/n: 
- leave a comment(?)

- and um i've hoped you enjoyed ugh ;~;